Metempsychosis
by I Am Atrocity
Summary: Response to Reptilia28's challenge. Harry is killed by Voldemort while fleeing from Privet Drive and finds himself meeting with his Overseer, a reaper-like figure assigned by Death to watch over Harry, who is far from happy to see him AGAIN. Now, Harry has one last chance to get his destiny right or both he and his Overseer will have to face the consequences. Can he do it? H/Hr.
1. Death is Only the Beginning

**A/N: Hello all, welcome to my latest attempt at writing Harry Potter fanfiction. Hopefully this time will go better than the last few tries. I really must resist the urge to add OCs to my stories. As is my preference, Harry will be a bit darker than in canon and possibly a bit OOC, but not to the point of being evil or completely dark. This is definitely somewhere in the AU section, as it were. It also acts as a response to Reptilia28's death challenge, which I have read some stories of, and figured I should give it a go. Of course it will have my own little twist on it, without changing much. Without further ado, let's get started.**

**Metempsychosis**

**by**

**I Am Atrocity**

**Chapter I: Death is Only the Beginning**

**'I don't belong here, I gotta move on dear, escape from this afterlife 'Cause this time I'm right to move on and on, far away from here. Got nothing against you and surely I'll miss you, This place full of peace and light, and I'd hope you might take me back inside when the time is right. Loved ones back home all crying 'cause they're already missing me. I pray by the grace of God that there's somebody listening. Give me a chance to be that person I wanna be  
(I am unbroken; I'm choking on this ecstasy). Oh Lord I'll try so hard but you gotta let go of me  
(Unbreak me, unchain me, I need another chance to live).'**

**- Afterlife, by Avenged Sevenfold.**

Everything was hazy, his vision unclear as though he had forgotten to put on his glasses that morning. His mind was a swirl of varying thoughts, each one more confusing and less coherent than the last. He felt sick, nauseous, his insides roiling and tossing unpleasantly. It felt as though he were laying on the deck of a ship or boat which floated on choppy waters. Yes, the closest he could liken this feeling to was seasickness, though he couldn't recall ever having been on a boat in his life, beyond his first time ever going to Hogwarts, but those boats had been magically tampered with and did not rock about in the slightest. But even now he could not remember if that had happened, the memory was slipping further and further away until he no longer remembered what he had been thinking about in the first place.

He focused and tried to sit up, only to for his head to spin and he fell back in dizziness. He tried again, ending in the same results as before. He was too weak.

He lay there, uncomfortable on a hard surface that swayed to and fro. He closed his eyes, attempting to quell his dizziness and disorientation. It took a short while, but his body began to settle. As he started to relax, he became aware of a strange gurgling sound. It took him a few moments to figure out what it was that he was hearing. It was the sound of waves lapping against a wooden surface. The sound echoed all around him, emanating from all sides, throwing his mind further into confusion.

With a groan, he shifted, searching his mind for the last thing he remembered from before waking. His memory was a hazy and unclear as his eyesight. With a sigh, he settled back down as he tried to remember even a single shred of memory.

He was broken from his thoughts by a new sound piercing his brain. It sounded like something being dipped beneath water. Then, he was jolted as whatever surface he was laying on began to move. His eyes shot open and he glanced around, his vision was beginning to clear.

He looked to either side and found himself staring at solid, but old looking wooden planks. He narrowed his eyes as they drifted up until they found the edge of the wood. They ended a few feet above him, and beyond that was pitch black.

He rolled himself over, his hands seeking purchase on the wood beneath him. He supported his upper body on his shaking arms as he pulled his legs up under him until he was sitting on his hands and knees. He then braced himself on the top edge of the wooden planks and pulled himself to his feet where he stood on wobbling legs.

Finally he got his footing and took the opportunity to glance around.

The first thing he realized was that he was in a small wooden boat of sorts, though it was unlike any boat he had ever seen. Had he seen other boats? He couldn't remember. The hull was rounded and roughly two meters across, and the length was somewhere around five meters or so. The railing of the boat was lined with what appeared to be human bones, though he could not be certain, dangling off the side. With every sway of the boat, they clanked ominously against the sides. He was certain, however, that the bow of the ship was made of a human spine with ribs protruding out on either side, and mounted with what was definitely a human skull.

He took in his surroundings beyond the boat. He could make out very little in the dank darkness, but it looked like he was in an underground cavern of some sort.

He idly wondered how he could see at all in the near-total black. The area inside the boat and within the immediate vicinity was fairly well lit with a pale blue light, but the rest was cloaked in shadow.

He turned toward the stern of the ship and nearly fell overboard at the sight that greeted him there.

Standing at the rear of the boat was a tall, skeletal figure wearing a robe and cloak so dark that it was almost a void against the stern of the boat. Two empty, dead eyes peered out from beneath the hood of the cloak, gazing ahead without really seeing. In its hands it held a long pole, which disappeared down into the dark depths beneath them. Every few seconds, the figure would lift the pole and then push it back down again, propelling their craft forward a slow but steady pace.

He stared slack-jawed at the haunting image before him with a mixture of dread and wonder. Again, the thought crossed his mind, _where on Earth am I?_

Something was tickling at the back of his mind, telling him that he should know this place, as though he had been here before. Try as he might, though, he could not conjure up any memories at all, let alone recall where he knew this place from.

Far in the distance he could see a pale blue torch blazing, and beneath it was what looked to be a dark wooden dock. A similar torch was fixed to the stern of the boat, which seemed to also be made from a spine, though it lacked the skull and ribs.

"What the hell is going on?" he wondered aloud, not expecting an answer.

The silence was broken by soft, raspy, whispering laughter.

He turned back toward the skeletal figure to find it looking directly at him, its eyes, though still dull and lifeless, gave off a sense of recognition that was both comforting and unnerving at the same time. In fact, if he had to explain how he was feeling now that they were moving further and further from the dock he would say that he felt strangely alright. Whereas he had felt pain and nausea upon waking, now he felt none. His vision, once blurred and unfocused, was now clear. His fear and confusion were lessening the further they drifted, replaced by a sense of acceptance and anticipation. And while his conflicting emotions caused his diminishing puzzlement to swell back up, it was not enough to cause him further worry.

He met the eyes of the figure, which now seemed amused, or at least that was the feeling that he felt coming for the creature, whatever, or whomever it was. The skull beneath the hood tilted back upward until the eyes were facing forward into the abyss once more.

Harry settled down on a bench that was situated at the feet of the figure steering the boat. He felt no fear in doing so, as something in him told him that the tall eerie figure meant him no harm or ill will. It was uncommonly comforting.

They drifted on for what seemed to be several long minutes, though he had no way of telling for sure. As he sat, he tried to remember, anything at all. Who was he? Where was he? How did he get here? Had he been here before? Where were they going? Why couldn't he remember?

Before he could dwell to long on the unknown, a mist suddenly enveloped the boat, though it did not enter past the rails. The boat seemed to cut through it like a knife through water.

Out of nowhere, in front of them, a glow appeared, blue, like the torch on the boat and the dock they had left far behind.

Then, as quickly the mist had come, it was gone and they were sitting still in the water at the side of another dock. He stood and walked to the edge of the boat and stepped out. He did this without thinking, his legs carrying him of their own accord. Once safely on the dock he dug into his pocket and withdrew a golden coin. He turned and bowed to the figure respectfully. "Thank you, Charon." He did not know where the name came from, it merely spilled forth as if he had no control over his own speech. He tossed the coin to the figure, Charon, who caught it easily and tucked it away in his robe.

The figure inclined its head to him in return, then with a push of his pole, began his journey back to the other side, across the river Styx.

He watched until the boat disappeared into the darkness, then turned and made his way to shore.

The earth beneath his feet was black and gravely with little to no grass or foliage growing along the shoreline. He walked forward, not knowing where he was going, but his feet seemed to know the way. He entered a tunnel that twisted and turned endlessly like a great serpent until he emerged into another cavern. He could hear the sound of running water and in the distance he saw a river running through the center of the cavern. There was also a bridge that extended over it to the far bank. _**Gjöll**_.

He made his way over the bridge. As he stepped off the other side, a growl pierced the air, echoing off the cavern walls. He glanced to the side and saw a great, shaggy black hound with blood-stained fur glaring at him, though it made no move to attack him. _**Garmr**_. The name echoed in his mind as he continued his trek.

He entered another tunnel, much like the last, which emerged in a great, wide open chamber that appeared to stretch out to leagues upon leagues, miles upon miles into the distance. Directly in front of him were a set of large gates set into a wall that was like black marble. In front of the gates, stood a large three-headed dog, its teeth bared and its beady black eyes watching all that approached. _**Cerberus**_. He looked past the dog, to the gates themselves. Upon them was carved a Latin inscription. _**"Through me you pass into the City of Woe. Through me you pass to a Forsaken People. Through me you pass to Eternal Sorrow. Sacred Justice moved my Architect. I was raised here by Divine Omnipotence, Primordial Love and Ultimate Intellect. Only those elements that time cannot wear were made before me, and beyond time I stand."**_

He could not help but think that those words were most saddening, though not meant for him, for he felt no fear in gazing upon them. Though, he suspected that there were some who would fall to their knees in despair and find their souls wracked with agonizing guilt at the mere sight of them.

He move forward, where there was a line of other beings such as himself lining up to be granted entry beyond those tall, towering gates. He joined the queue.

One by one they passed through to what lay beyond. When finally it was his turn, he stepped forward to face a hooded figure, this one with no visible features. "Who are you?" it asked, its voice soft, old and whisper-like.

He did not know, but the words tumbled from his mouth on their own, as they had done back at the docks. "Harry James Potter."

The figure snapped its head up and Harry suddenly felt as though he had done something very wrong. It was a very familiar feeling, though he could not place why. The figure raised a pale hand and another hooded figure stepped forward. The two conversed silently for a moment, then the second figure ushered him forward, beckoning him to follow.

Harry did as he was bid, unsure until he passed through the gates, then memories came flooding back like a tidal wave. He stumbled beneath the sudden onslaught, but he felt a cold hand grip his arm and steady him as they continued to walk.

He now knew who he was, where he was and why he was here. He also knew why he felt familiar with this place.

He was dead.

He was dead and this was the Underworld. He had been here several times before, he was sure of it, though the details of each visit were a bit hazy and hard to focus on still. The events that brought him here this time though were clear as day now. He had been killed, by Voldemort. _Avada Kedavra _to the face as he and Hagrid had been trying to make their escape from Privet Drive in Sirius' old flying motorcycle. It seemed so cruel to him now, that he would die at the hands of his greatest enemy just moments after Hedwig had died saving his life from a Death Eater.

He turned his head to the side, pushing his memories back. He glanced around, hoping his surroundings would give him some distraction. He was expecting more of the dreary and dreadfully dark hue of the landscape outside the gates, but he was surprised to see green grass and trees in the distance. "Elysium. The Isles of the Blest. Heaven. Tír na nÓg. Valhalla. Or any of the many other names it may bear, that is the land of the blessed and honored dead. It is the final resting place of heroes, wise men, virtuous souls and saints alike." He hooded figure turned to him as he spoke, still leading Harry along toward an unknown destination, though Harry strongly suspected that it had something to do with the castle that he could see looming ahead of them. "That will be your home here, when the appointed time has come."

Harry was further confused by the figure's words. What did it mean by 'the appointed time'?

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked.

The figured turned his head back forward. "All will come to light soon enough. Now come." He said no more as they picked up the pace.

They passed beneath an archway into the grounds of the castle. He was led inside, down several corridors. One of the corridors was long and lined with large stone statues depicting various being, few of which he would be able to tell the name of. The figure noticed him looking at them in wonder and decided to explain a bit to him.

"Death has many faces," he said, also looking at the carved figures, "and even more names. Each of them is depicted here. Hades, Hel, Odin, Nergal, Ereshkigal, Anubis, Osiris, Lucifer, Donn, Supay, Mictlantecuhtli, Tuoni, Thanatos, Freyja, Pluto, Mors, Mania, Satan, Dis Pater, Yami, Shinigami, Ishtar-Deela Nakh, Santa Muerte, Azrael, Angra Mainyu, Jesus Christ, Barastyr, Grim Reaper... and oh so many more. Death has perhaps more names than any other force in this universe, maybe even more than the universe itself. It is inescapable and eternal, and completely unbiased. It comes for all. Though, as you can see, child, it is far from the end." They came to a doorway, which the figure opened and gestured for him to enter. "This way."

They entered into what looked like an antechamber of sorts. He was directed to a chair and ordered to sit. He did so without complaint or resistance. As soon as he was settled, the figure turned to depart. "Your overseer will be along to help you shortly. Farewell, Mr. Potter." With that, the figure was gone and Harry was left all alone.

He fidgeted restlessly in the near-oppressing silence of the bare and empty room. He kept turning his head and looking in every direction, looking for any clue as to what he was doing here. He found nothing. The monotony of the room was unbroken save for the door that they had come in through and another directly opposite it. There were a few more empty chairs lined up along the wall next to his, but none of them were occupied.

He had just settled in for a long, boring wait when the second door opened and another hooded figure stepped out into the room. He could see the face of this one, vaguely, as its hood was drawn back slightly. It was difficult to look at in the sense that it was constantly shifting and blurring as if it couldn't decide what it wanted to look like. He wondered if the others were same, and that was why they wore hoods that kept their faces in shadow.

"By all the gods, what are you doing here?" the figure asked bluntly.

Harry was taken aback by the sharp tone in which the words were spoken. "I'm sorry? I don't-"

"Blast it all, what is this the sixth time? No, no, it's the SEVENTH time you've been here." the figure yelled. "Yes, I'm quite certain." He took a deep breath, seeing Harry's bewildered face. "Perhaps we should talk about this in my office." Harry hastily agreed, not wanting to upset the nameless being further.

He was led down a hall and into a simple and plain office. He sat down as directed while the cloaked being took a seat behind a dark stone desk. He leaned forward, elbows on the desktop and his head in his hands. His features shifting even faster and more drastically than before in his apparent distress.

After a few minutes of sitting in silence while the figure composed himself, his features settling into the guise of a middle-aged Caucasian man with brown combed, business-like hair. He lifted his head up and looked directly at Harry, who found him easier to look at now that he had settled on one look, his eyes hard, but not unkind.

He spoke in a much calmer tone and his words were almost sad. Though his distress was still visible. "Perhaps I should start at the beginning. As I said before, this is not the first time you've been in my office, Mr. Potter. First, there was the Philosopher's Stone incident, when Riddle's spectre passed through you. Stopped your damned heart, it did. Then you went and got bit by that damned Basilisk, nasty business that. Then, when you were thirteen, you fell off your broom because of those horrid Dementors. Then you died in that tournament when Voldemort came back. Then in the Ministry of Magic, again at the hands of Voldemort. Then again when the Death Eaters entered Hogwarts, you tried to save Dumbledore and died along with him. And now this, blasted out of the air by Voldemort as you and that giant bloke tried to get away. Looking back over it all, you can see why I'm not happy to see you again, Mr. Potter."

Harry looked sheepishly at his shoes. "Sorry, sir."

The being humphed. "Yes, as you should be. After this, I don't know what will happen to me. Honestly, I'm about ready to quit, that is if Death doesn't fire me first. I'll be lucky to be cleaning up the blood and bodies in the Fields of Punishment after this. I've only been an Overseer for short while now, you were my first client. With your mortality rate, it has not been pleasant, believe you me. Every time you die before your time, I get a black mark on my record. At this rate I'll be out of here any day now." He shook his head. "Why can't you just get it right?!"

Harry was now getting a bit irritated by this being, whom he did not know the name of, bitching at him like this was all his fault. "Look, sir, I'm sorry for your troubles, but it can't really all be blamed on me now can it? I mean, how the hell am I supposed 'get it right', as you say, if I don't even have the slightest clue about what I'm supposed to do!" Harry's voice had gotten progressively louder until he was all but shouting.

The figure stood up. "Oh, you want to know what you're supposed to do? Huh? Is that right?"

Harry stood too. "Um, yeah, that would be nice." There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Alright then, fine. Here you go!," he raised one finger. "FIRST, you're supposed to defeat Voldemort, which, it seems, is beyond you're capability!" He raised a second finger and waved them in Harry's face. "SECOND, you're supposed to marry you soul mate, but somehow you keep getting distracted! AND THIRD," he raised a third finger, "YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO LIVE TO BE AN OLD MAN AND FINALLY DIE AT THE AGE TWO HUNDRED OR SOME OTHER BLOODY RIDICULOUS AGE! YOU GOT ALL THAT? THINK YOU CAN REMEMBER IT? IT ISN'T THAT DAMNED HARD!" He dropped back into his chair breathing heavily. "Gonna give me a damned heart attack and I can't even have heart attacks!"

Harry, for his part was standing in shocked silence.

The Overseer looked up at him when his continued silence came to his attention. "Don't look so stunned, Potter, it's not like we haven't had arguments before, though I guess you wouldn't really remember them now would you?" When he received no response he stood again and waved a hand in front of Harry's eyes. "Yoo-hoo, afterlife to Potter, come in, Potter!"

Harry's eyes came back into focus and he swallowed thickly. "Soul mate?"

The Overseer let out a half-sob and fell back into his chair. "Out of everything I just said, that was all that you took in? I'm doomed."

Harry ignored the man's melodramatics, or perhaps it was simply an apt prediction of his own future, only time would tell, and pressed on. "You said 'soul mate'."

The Overseer nodded, rubbing his eyes. "Yes."

"I have a soul mate?"

"Yes."

"How? I thought those kinds of things only happened in fairy tales?"

The Overseer shook his head. "Lots of people have soul mates. In fact, most of them do. They just don't realize it. You are a child of prophecy, of course you have a soul mate. It's kind of a balancing thing the universe does. You suffer, but ultimately you find happiness, that sort of thing. I can see where you would think that it sounds like a fairy tale. But, I'll have you know that it's not all rainbows and sunshine and there's no glowing light or happily ever after. Soul mates, while made for each other, always have their ups and downs, just like any normal relationship, however love does conquer all in this case. So I guess it could be considered happily ever after if you ignore the hard times and the occasional fights, but then again you should probably consider- no wait! We're getting off topic. Let me go over it again: kill Voldemort, marry your soul mate, die at the appointed time, and not a moment before. Got it?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, but...um...who _is_ my soul mate?"

The Overseer stopped moving, and Harry could practically see the gears turning in his head. "Damn it, I knew it...gah! Damn it, I don't know! Some Granger girl or something like that!"

Harry was left shocked once more. "Hermione?!"

The Overseer waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Whatever. Whoever she is, I'll bet she doesn't give her Overseer anywhere near this much grief."

"I never considered that it would be Hermione," Harry said, thinking aloud.

"Trust me, _I know_!" his Overseer said sarcastically. "One of the many reasons I'm in so much trouble around here! Those Weasleys, not the most trustworthy of families out there. Molly's heart is in the right place but they're a greedy and jealous lot. I'd be wary if I were you. I'm quite sure there was a love potion in there somewhere...everyone has their flaws I suppose. Just look at you!"

Harry was dumbfounded. What the hell did he mean 'love potion'? He shook his head, deciding that he'd think about that and this whole Hermione being his soul mate thing later, for now had to figure out what was going to happen next. "So, what happens now? Do I just stay dead, maybe get punished for being a screw-up or what?"

The Overseer looked appalled. "By all the gods, no! We're going to send you back. Maybe this time you'll get it right and I'll get to keep my desk job."

"So, what, will I just have to figure all of this out on my own? That worked out quite well last time," Harry asked.

The Overseer shook his head. "No, no, no. I'm going to be giving you a bit of insurance, so to speak. You see, normally you wouldn't be allowed to keep your memories of your time here, or of your previous life to avoid possible abuse of the time line, but, seeing as how I'm at my wit's end and you've died more times than The Doctor in Doctor Who, I think a little bending of the rules is in order, don't you?"

Harry nodded quickly. "Yes, I think so."

"Good, now," a piece of parchment appeared in the Overseer's hand, which he extended to Harry, along with a quill and ink pot, "sign this and you can be on your way, as it were."

Harry took the parchment and quill. "What is this?" he asked, scanning through what was written on it.

"Just a confidentiality agreement. It states that you agree not to tell anyone about what you have seen or experience here, on second thought, you probably shouldn't mention being here. In fact, it's probably best if you don't talk about the afterlife or dying at all, Harry Potter."

Harry frowned. "Um, OK. What about Hermione?"

The Overseer frowned too. "Who?"

Harry let out an exasperated sigh. "My soul mate."

"Oh, her!" The Overseer shrugged. "What about her?"

"Can I tell her about all this?" Harry asked.

The Overseer thought about it. "Hmm. Probably shouldn't, just to be safe. You'd have to teach her how to protect her mind and memories from others, which takes quite a long time on its own, then you'd have to make her swear never to reveal it to anyone... it all get's fairly complicated at that point. I'd say avoid the headache and just don't talk about it at all. You know, keep it to yourself. She'll know all about it in a couple centuries when you're both dead and back here, then neither of us will have anything to worry about."

"But she's my soul mate," Harry pointed out.

"I wouldn't tempt fate."

"But you said-"

"Just sign the damned thing, Potter!" The Overseer snapped.

"Alright, alright!" Harry quickly started writing his name at the bottom of the parchment. "I won't talk about it." He handed the agreement back. The Overseer nodded in satisfaction. "So, when will I be sent back to?"

"I'm not sure. Not too far back, I think. We don't want you getting sidetracked or leave too much room for abuse of the natural order."

Harry screwed up his face in confusion. "Natural order?"

The Overseer nodded. "Yes, you know, like trying to change certain events, or keep certain people from dying at their appointed times."

"Appointed times?" Harry asked, thinking about Sirius and Dumbledore, and Cedric.

The Overseer nodded. "Everyone has a time in which they are destined to pass on to this world. This cannot be changed, or it could upset the balance of the universe. Bad things happen when the balance it disrupted. A few examples include, the Apocalypse, Ragnarok, Armageddon, the end of all life as we know it. You know, that sort of thing. Best to avoid such thoughts."

Harry frowned. "But-"

"No buts, Harry. I know what you're thinking, I'm good like that. Cedric was meant to die in that graveyard. Sirius was meant to fall through the Veil. He's partying it up in Elysium right now. Dumbledore was meant to be killed by Severus Snape that night on the Astronomy Tower. It is how the universe intended it. You can't change fate, Harry. That's why, every time you die, I have to send you back. To set the universe back in order. Now, do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir."

The Overseer smiled. "Good. Now, get out of my office." With that, he snapped his fingers and Harry's vision went black once more.

**XXXX**

**A/N: There's the end of the first chapter. What do you think? What time do you think I should send Harry back to? Let me know. **

**I am still working on my Avenger's stories, but it is slow-going, so it may be a while before I post anything to them. Sorry. As for my previous Harry Potter stories, I've lost interest in them. I highly doubt that I'll ever go back to them. I'm sorry for that as well. Well, as always, review and let me know what you think, but be respectful and refrain from flaming me, I prefer colder temperatures, thank you, and seeing as it's the middle of summer and hot as hell where I live, the forecast does not call for fire. Thank you.**

**Until next time.**

**- Atrocity.**

**Metempsychosis – **_**noun. (1) The transmigration of the soul, especially the passage of the soul after death from a human or animal to another human or animal body. **_

_**(2) The migration of the soul from one body to another.**_

_**Synonyms – Revival, reincarnation, reawakening, rejuvenation, renewal, rebirth.**_

_**Origin - **__**via Late Latin from Greek, from metempsukhousthai, from **__**meta- **__**+ -em- in + psukhē soul**_


	2. Back in Time

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its affiliated works or properties.**

**A/N: Welcome one and all to the second chapter to _Metempsychosis_. It took me a little while to decide what year to send Harry back to, but hopefully this will work for you all. Thank you for you reviews and words of encouragement. I've done my best to clean up the previous chapter and correct as many of the mistakes as I can. I may have missed a few. **

**I like to think of myself as a 'descriptive' writer. I like to try and use words to paint a picture for you all to see in your heads as you read. Hopefully I have been able to succeed in this endeavor and not come across as boring.**

**This chapter acts as a foundation. It sets up where and when Harry is in the past and sets the story in motion. There aren't really any changes in canon yet, but those will come soon enough, never fear.**

**Now, without further ado, on with the story!**

**Metempsychosis**

**by**

**I Am Atrocity**

**Chapter II: Back in Time**

**'Hiding again behind your wall, decay decline a downfall. A failure forgotten out of time, collapse so long ago. Drifting on, lost on the way. A past beyond memory. Gone past the point of no return, lead to a place so far gone. The dark embraces all your fears, someday you'll rise again. Drifting on, lost on the way. A past beyond memory.'**

**- Past Beyond Memory, by Into Eternity.**

Harry landed hard on his feet and he felt one of his legs buckle, causing him to fall down onto his back. His entire being ached as though he had been under constant exertion for an extended period of time and his leg was twinging in pain. Where was he? _When_ was he?

He rolled onto his side and then slowly pulled himself to his feet, hopping slightly on one foot as he attempted to put weight on the injured one. Finally, after a moment, he was able to stand relatively straight. He reached up and adjusted his glasses as he took in his surroundings. He was standing directly next to a large headstone with a large statue of a winged reaper sitting atop it, a great long scythe held in one hand while the other seemed to almost reach out as if to grasp something, or someone.

The Angel of Death. Harry couldn't help but scoff at the irony. As he looked up at the skeletal face, shadowed by the hood of its long flowing robe, he could swear that it was smiling back at him, as if sharing some private joke; he had no idea how close to the truth this thought was.

For a great distance beyond, the cemetery stretched and he could see a large manor house in the distance as well. The grass was longer than it should have been, as if someone had neglected to trim it in recent weeks. The graves were overgrown with weeds and some had even begun to crack and crumble after many upon many years of sitting there, exposed to the elements; but this was to be expected of any cemetery.

Harry knew this place. He knew it all too well. "Not again," he breathed out through his teeth. He scowled up at the Reaper statue, needing something to direct his discomfort and annoyance at. He silently hoped that his Overseer could hear the abuse he was silently directing his way.

"Did anyone tell _you_ the Cup was a portkey?"

Harry turned sharply as the silence was shattered by an oh-so-familiar voice. His eyes fell upon the crouched form of Cedric Diggory as he knelt beside a large glowing Cup. He stared in silent awe at seeing his long-dead friend again, alive. He could feel his lips twitch upward momentarily until his mind comprehended what Cedric had just asked him. "What?" His memory of Cedric's imminent death came rushing forward in his mind and his face fell into a dark expression.

Cedric gestured to the Cup again. "The Cup, it's a portkey, did anyone tell you that?"

Harry shook his head, a familiar sense of dread filling his gut. "No." He suddenly felt like they were being watched. He glanced back at the statue once more.

Cedric frowned. "Do you think this is part of the task?" He sounded nervous as he glanced around.

Harry shook his head with certainty. "No." He drew his wand.

Cedric noticed this. "Wands out, then?"

Harry nodded sharply. "Wands out." The feeling of being watched was growing stronger and he could just make out a figure walking toward them between the gravestones. "We aren't alone here. Someone's coming." He knew very well who it was. His memory of this place was as clear as if it had happened yesterday. He was certain that he would never forget it for as long as he lived.

Cedric squinted his eyes at the approaching figure. "What's it carrying?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Nothing good." He set his feet, preparing for a fight. As he waited for the figure to draw nearer, he thought about the position he found himself in. On one hand, he had the power to save Cedric's life, to rewrite history. But at what cost? Which brought him to the other side of the equation. He had been warned that tampering too much with the direction of the time line could result in catastrophic events that could destroy the world and end all life. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear a whispering that was telling him to forget what the Overseer said and do what he felt was the right thing. But, there again, he was conflicted. Save one and doom billions? Or doom one and save billions.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts as the figure that he knew to be Wormtail stopped at the edge of the small clearing that they were standing in. Harry made a decision then and there. "Cedric, get back to the Cup. Tell Dumbledore that-"

He was cut off as an ice-cold, hissing voice spoke over him. "_Kill the spare._"

Harry's eyes widened in horror as Pettigrew raised his wand and shouted, "_Avada Kedavra!_"

It all happened so fast that Harry had no time to react. The bright green light seared his retinas as it blazed passed him and struck Cedric in the back as he had made a mad dash for the Cup, heeding Harry's advise.

Harry stared in disbelief as Cedric crumpled to the ground and lay there, face-down, unmoving. Harry felt anger flare up inside him and he turned toward Wormtail, wand raised, but before he could so much as utter a single syllable, his scar erupted in blinding pain and he dropped to his knees, his wand falling uselessly to the ground at his side. His hands flew up to his face in a vain attempt to quell the agony that felt as though it would split his skull in two.

Squinting up through the haze of pain, he could see Wormtail standing over him and the infant-like form of Voldemort gazing down at him in amusement. Then Wormtail lit his wand and cast its pale light around them as he set the small bundle that housed Voldemort down and then proceeded to grasp Harry by the arm and drag him toward the large headstone with the Angel of Death standing proudly atop it. He already knew whose grave it was. Tom Riddle, Voldemort's muggle father.

A sudden feeling of fear and determination coursed through him and he began to struggle against the surprisingly strong grip of the short, portly, rat-like man. He lashed out with fist and foot, but because of the angle at which he was being dragged, he could not deliver a well-connected blow to his parents' betrayer.

He was hauled up and shoved backwards into the headstone. As his back bounced off the hard surface, he swung a fist at Wormtail's face in a last ditch effort of defiance. His fist connected hard with Wormtail's face and the older man stumbled backward, his hand coming up to cradle his nose as blood started to pour out of it and down his chin.

Harry seized this opportunity and made a dash toward the Cup and Cedric's body. The older boy had made it much closer than he thought. Harry dove for the Cup, one hand outstretched toward the glowing trophy and the other reaching for the back of Cedric's shirt. He never made it.

Before his hand could make contact, he felt himself freeze in midair. He wanted to scream in frustration, and would have had he been able to speak through the body-bind that he now found himself in. He was floated back to the gravestone and secured with thick ropes before the bind was canceled and he could move once more; for what little good it would do him.

Wormtail swiftly went about making sure that his binds were good and tight, yanking them tighter when he came across a loose bit, causing Harry to gasp as the cords bit into flesh. Then, once he was satisfied, he glared up at Harry and struck his hard across the face with the back of his hand. Harry's head snapped to the side from the unexpected blow and Wormtail wiped some of his own blood away with the back of his other hand as he turned away and hurried back to the nearby bundle of cloth that held Voldemort.

Harry struggled against the bonds that held him tight, frustrated and angry that he had been caught off guard again, even though he had known what was coming. Once again, Cedric Diggory was dead and he himself was bound at the mercy of Voldemort, helpless to prevent his return.

He continued to struggle against his bonds as Wormtail disappeared from his view behind the grave he was tied to. Then, the sound of something heavy being moved across the earth was heard and Wormtail came back into view, pushing a large stone cauldron into position in the center of the clearing. Just looking at it, Harry knew that it was easily large enough to hold a full-grown man inside and still have some wiggle room. It was already filled nearly to the brim with water, the sound of it lapping against the insides and occasionally spilling over the edge and onto the grass at their feet easily being heard over the dead quiet stillness that permeated the graveyard. As soon as he was happy with the placement, Wormtail began casting a series of spells at the base of the cauldron and soon a magical fire was blazing brightly beneath the large belly.

The contents began to bubble and gurgle unnaturally quickly and was soon at a full boil. Sparks began to spring up on the surface of the water in the cauldron, shining uncommonly bright in the pale darkness of the night.

Harry was so focused on watching the beginnings of the dark ritual unfold that he was startled and jumped against the ropes when he felt something brush against his foot. He looked down quickly, seeking whatever it was that had bumped into him. He found it easily. It was probably the largest snake he had ever seen, and might possibly ever see, in his life, er, lives. He growled and glared at the beast. Nagini. That damned snake.

Nagini lifted her head and looked up at him, as if feeling his eyes on her, flicked her long forked tongue out, tasting the air and began to move closer to him.

Harry tried to kick at the serpent but it did little good as his legs were too tightly bound.

"_Not yet,_" the cold voice of Voldemort hissed out, and Harry was unsure whether it had been in English or Parseltongue.

The snake looked toward her master, then back at Harry one last time as if to say _"Soon,"_, then slithered off into the darkness.

By this time the liquid in the cauldron was fully ablaze and a thick plume of smoke and steam curled up from it and into the sky. Wormtail seemed to sag with relief as he turned toward the bundle. "It is ready, my lord."

"_Do it! Do it, now!_" Voldemort cried, his already high voice almost shrill in his excitement and impatience.

"Right away, my lord." Wormtail gave a sort of half-bow and hurried toward the bundle, scooping it up in his arms and rushing back to the cauldron.

He unfolded the cloth covering with shaking hands revealing the diminutive and grotesque form of the most feared wizard of the last century. He was small, about the size of an infant child and his body was pale, colorless, and completely devoid of hair; it appeared as frail as a sickly, malnourished child. His face was flat and his nose reduced to a pair of slits in the center of his features. His eyes, snake-like in their design and red as blood, glowed eerily with a sort of inner light that allowed Harry to see them staring at him all too well. Harry's scar exploded in pain again as he took in the horrible visage before him.

Wormtail tossed the bundled cloth away and held the shriveled form of Voldemort over the cauldron. He seemed to hesitate.

"_Do it, fool!_"

Wormtail nodded frantically and lowered the wriggling form into the cauldron, letting it slip in and sink beneath the surface. Faintly, Harry swore he could hear a scream, followed by a soft thump as the body settled to the bottle, though he was certain that the former was merely his imagination.

A dark thought entered Harry's mind as he looked at the cauldron, but this was one he had had before, he remembered wishing for the same thing last time he had been in this situation, and even while he knew it was futile to hope for such a simple outcome, he silently wished over and over for the wretched thing to drown within the flaming water. He wanted it to suffer, to feel the life slowly be choke from it as it fought to draw a breath that would never come as its tiny lungs filled with water. He wanted to feel fear in its last moments; a few short moments that would pale in comparison to the fear, loss, despair, anger and helplessness that Harry had suffered through for his entire life because of the vile being now lying at the bottom of the cauldron about to be restored to life. But, no matter how hard he wished it, even _prayed_ for it, he knew that Voldemort would not drown, and even if he did, he would return again anyway. There were still six other Horcruxes out there, and Voldemort would not be able to properly die until they were all gone. Even so, he fought against the ropes more desperately.

Wormtail stood up straighter, looking less timid and his hands shaking less now that Voldemort was out of sight. It was quite a noticeable transformation; how a man could go from cowering in fear before a mere infant of a creature, to standing almost normally in the span of a couple of seconds, once the object of his fear was no longer immediately present.

The former Marauder turned toward the grave that Harry was bound to and Harry continued to struggle. He could feel the bonds loosen slightly. Wormtail must have noticed them slacken minutely, because he waved his wand at the statue of the Reaper, which bent forward and used its scythe to hold him in place before freezing again. Harry cursed.

Wormtail then pointed his wand at the ground at Harry's feet. He then spoke, his voice steady, "_Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!_"

The ground split open, revealing a wooden coffin. The wood splintered and cracked, then fell away to reveal mostly what appeared to be dust mixed with some bones that had yet to become brittle and crumble away, laying against the rotted base of the casket. A fine trickle of the 'dust' rose up and reformed into a solid bone, a piece of the forearm or a rib, Harry couldn't be sure as it floated over to the cauldron and dropped inside. Why one of the still-intact bones hadn't been chosen, Harry had no idea, maybe was random, maybe it had a purpose; he finally decided that it didn't matter in the end.

As the bone made contact with the surface of the still-flaming water, it hissed and sparked before it sank down inside, turning the water an unsettling, blackened blue color.

Next Wormtail took a dagger from within his robes and walked to the edge of the cauldron and held his right hand over the fiery surface of the liquid. He held the dagger tightly in his left hand. His shaking had returned as Peter prepared himself for what he had to do next. Harry could see his jaw clench. When he spoke, his voice wavered. "_Flesh – of the servant – w-willingly given – you will r-revive your m-master._"

After uttering these words, he swung down with the dagger, slicing through his own wrist. However, his strength wasn't what he was hoping it would be and the dagger failed to cut all the way through. He cried out as he tried to pull the blade free, but he was unable to. So, instead, he began to slowly saw the dagger back and forth. Harry flinched and cringed and watched in morbid fascination as the squelching and grating sounds of the blade sawing through flesh, blood and bone reached his ears. With every movement of the knife, Wormtail whimpered and cried out, his face extremely pale and he began to sweat profusely, his knees wobbling.

Finally, the last bit flesh was cut away and the dismembered hand fell into the cauldron with a sickening splash. Wormtail panted and moaned in between the anguished sobs that wracked his body. He collapsed to his knees. Harry almost felt sorry for the rat-like man, but a reminder that he was the reason his parents were dead was more than enough to stamp out any pity or sympathy he may have felt.

The potion flared up and turned a dark shade of red.

After a long moment, Wormtail stood up and began to stagger toward where Harry was tied. Harry fought and pulled against his bonds, but he was thoroughly stuck with the statue still holding him in place.

Wormtail still held the blood-smeared dagger in his left hand, and his right arm was bent up as he held his newly acquired stump to his chest, his face set in an expression of pure agony, tears leaking from his eyes and sliding down his dirty, rounded face.

He poised the knife over Harry's arm, cutting away the sleeve of his TriWizard robes. He dug the tip of the dagger into his skin. "_B-blood...of the...enemy...forcibly...t-taken...you...will resurrect...your foe._" As the last word was breathed out, he drove the point in and slashed down Harry's arm. Harry cried out as he felt a hot, burning stab of great pain, but then his arm seemed to almost go numb, save for a faint burning and he absently wondered through the haze if Wormtail had pierced a nerve or something like that, or if perhaps the pain was simply too much and his mind was protecting him and itself by numbing it. He could only speculate.

Wormtail hurried back the cauldron and let the blood from Harry drip into the cauldron. The fire flared up higher than ever before, and Wormtail was forced to take several steps backwards in the face of the intense heat. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the flame died away completely, leaving behind a sickly pale liquid that looked almost like milk in its consistency and color.

Wormtail sagged and collapsed onto the ground, cradling his bleeding stump and sobbing quietly.

For a long moment it seemed as nothing was going to happen, but then the surface of the liquid began to bubble and ripple, then the top of a head broke the surface, followed by a face, long, thin neck and bony shoulders. The skin covering the body was pale, pale grey in color and was stretched thin so that Harry could almost see the muscles moving and working just below the surface; it was translucent in places and dark blue veins could be seen at his wrists, chest and forehead.

As he stood to his full height, the cauldron melted away and vanished, along with the liquid in a flash of white light. And there Voldemort stood, in all of his terrible glory, tall and thin, his body bearing an almost serpentine-like grace, bare of all clothing. It was probably the most terrifying sight Harry had even beheld, and he had faced down a thousand-year-old Basilisk.

From the moment that he had emerged from the cauldron, Harry had felt his scar burn once more.

"Robe me," the Dark Lord said, not even turning his head toward the still-whimpering Wormtail.

Pettigrew struggled to his feet and walked behind the grave that Harry was bound to. He disappeared behind it, then came back out carrying a black robe. He struggled, but somehow he managed to pull it over his master's head and body with one hand.

Once the robe was in place, Voldemort turned his head toward Harry and stared him straight in the eyes with his own milky yellow eyes. Harry stared back, trying to hide his pain and horror, but was unable to mask it. Voldemort smiled at this.

The newly risen Dark Lord held Harry's gaze for a moment longer, then turned his attention upon himself, raising his long-fingered, bony hands up and running them over the bald dome of his head, almost seeming to revel in the feel of the smooth flesh beneath his fingers. He let out a sigh. Wormtail extended his hand, which held a wand of some white wood that almost resembled bone. Voldemort took it from him with a graceful sweep of his own hand.

Finally, he turned to Wormtail. "Give me your arm, Wormtail," he said casually.

Wormtail sighed in relief and extended his stump. "Oh, thank you, Master!"

Voldemort frowned coldly down at the portly man. "The _other arm_, Wormtail."

Wormtail's lower lip quivered as he peered up at Voldemort in confusion. Slowly, he withdrew his wounded limb and cradled it against his chest once more, eyes lowered, and held his left arm out to the Dark Lord.

Voldemort peeled the sleeve of Wormtail's coat up and revealed the faded, twisting image of the Dark Mark, still clearly visible against Pettigrew's pale and dirty skin. He touched the tip of his wand against the mark and then pressed it in harder as his eyes slipped shut. The mark on Pettigrew's arm darkened considerably and began to twist with greater fervor.

"Now we shall see...now we shall know...They will have all noticed by now, of that there is no doubt. Soon..." Voldemort spoke quietly, as though he were merely thinking aloud and was not aware that Harry and Wormtail, who was whimpering and sobbing uncontrollably at Voldemort's feet, could hear him.

For Harry's part, as soon as the wand had touched the mark, his scar had all but split open in sheer, undiluted pain. He clenched his teeth together, steeling his jaw and fighting with every ounce of his resolve not to cry out.

Voldemort still seemed lost in his own thoughts, though he continued to speak his thoughts openly to the all-but-empty graveyard. "Hm, I wonder, how many will be brave enough to show their faces here? And yet, I wonder infinitely more how many will be foolish enough _not_ to. We shall see..."

Finally, the pain in Harry's scar became too much and a gasp escaped from between his lips.

Voldemort turned sharply to him, snapping out of his thoughts and back to the present. "Ah, Harry Potter, do not think that I have forgotten about you. That, I fear, is something I can never do; at least not until you are dead." He smiled softly at the last remaining Potter, his serpentine eyes glowing with malice. His eyes darted down to the still-open pit that held the remains of Tom Riddle Sr., then back up at Harry. "You and I are not so different, I think, Harry Potter. You stand here, upon the bones of my father. He was a muggle, and very much a fool. Not so much unlike your mother, really. They have both had their uses...served their purpose. What is that purpose, you may wonder? That is an easy enough question to answer. It was, essentially, to die. Your mother died to protect you all those years ago, and I, well, I killed my father. Your mother's death gifted you with protections and in effect saved your life. My father, well, you've seen how very useful he has been in death. His death, in a sense, too has saved _my_ life."

Harry glared at Voldemort, silently willing the bastard to just die. If looks could kill, Voldemort and all of his soul fragments would have been sent screaming into the void. Alas, such a thing was not possible, no matter how much he wished it.

But, Voldemort was not done, however. "You see that house, there, upon the hillside. That was the home of my father. My mother was a witch who lived in this little village, and fell in love with him," he said, spitting the word 'love' like it left a sour taste in his mouth. "He left her, of course, after he found out what she was. He held no love for magic, my father. My mother, sadly, died giving birth to me, and I was left to be raised in a muggle orphanage." He chuckled. "So, in truth, I killed _both_ of my parents, just as you did."

Harry shook his head. "No, I didn't kill them, you did." He spoke through his teeth as his scar was still searing with sharp pain. He looked over at Wormtail. "You, and that filth over there."

Voldemort smiled condescendingly. "So, so naive. Poor boy, you do not even realize the extent of your own role in this do you? It is true that I was the one to strike them down, but it was you, and you alone, that sealed their fates. By your very existence, you caused the death of your family. Had it not been for you being born, they would not have had to die."

Harry strongly wanted to refute Voldemort's words, but they were striking too close to the heart for him to think clearly. They played on emotions that he attempted to keep suppressed and hidden from the light of day.

In the back of his mind, there had always been a part of him that believed that he was to blame, especially after the revealing of the prophecy in his fifth year. If he had been born but a day or two later, or if he had never been born at all, there was a very likely chance that his family would not have been targeted at all. He had shared this fear with no one, pushing it down until he could completely ignore it for the most part. Now, they were all brought to the forefront of his mind.

Voldemort's smile turned predatory. "Ah, there, see? You _do_ know it, don't you?" He reached out a hand pressed it flat against Harry's chest, over where his heart was hammering away. "You know it, in here. You know I am right."

Harry turned his face away, not daring to look into that terrible face, lest those milky eyes see the very real doubt in his own.

Voldemort withdrew his hand from Harry's chest and looked toward the darkened sky. "Look at me. Back in the world of the living for only a few minutes, and I've already grown quite sentimental. Reliving family history...But, no matter, look, Harry Potter, my _true_ family has returned."

Harry looked upward as well. The dark clouds were moving and shifting, then several streams split off from the main body of the clouds like the tails of funnel clouds and shot down toward the ground at a rapid pace.

The black swirling cloud stream struck the ground and dissipated into a haze of thick smoke. Harry squinted against the unnatural fog and coughed as he took a breath of the smoke. When the smoke cleared there were several cloaked figures standing in a silent circle around the clearing, encircling the grave of Tom Riddle and effectively trapping Harry within their ranks. As one, they knelt down before their Dark Lord.

Now, with his followers all around him once more, Lord Voldemort had well and truly returned.

**XXXX**

**A/N: Well, there's another chapter down. What did you think? I know it was a bit of a slow chapter, but I don't want to rush through things. On that note, I think, after this, I'm going to post a new chapter every couple of weeks or so. **

**So, I'm open to suggestions any of you may have, feel free to offer up ideas. PM me if you wish. Suggestions on how to change things would be helpful. I have some ideas, but any of yours would be welcome. Note though, that I do not wish to make Harry overly powerful or incredibly super-smart, he's not Dumbledore and he's not Hermione. In short, I do NOT want to turn Harry into a Mary-Sue, or 'Gary-Sue', or whatever. That is a problem I've had with many of the time travel fics I've read; Harry becomes too powerful, too fast. It usually gets to the point to where things just get boring because there isn't a real threat any more. I want to avoid this at all costs.**

**As always, leave a review, but try to be respectful and polite about it, I don't like rude people.**

**Until next time.**

**-Atrocity.**


	3. Grave Reunions

**Disclaimer: I DO NOT own Harry Potter or any affiliated works.**

**A/N: Welcome all to the third chapter of _Metempsychosis_. This was actually supposed to be posted yesterday, but I went to the Coheed and Cambria concert in Dallas...I'm not apologizing.**

**Hopefully you were all able to bear with me through the previous chapter as we traversed familiar territory. We have a bit more familiar terrain to go through in this chapter, but the changes will start in this chapter as well. Stay with me guys, I have a plan!...sort of. Anyway, thank you for all of your reviews and words of encouragement, and critique, they mean a lot. Special thanks to Delightfully Sinful for allowing me to bounce ideas off of you and for your valued input, as well as Dr. Stranger for helping me to clear up the many errors in the previous chapters. I tend to think faster than I type and sometime it gets away from me...I make no excuses.**

**Without further ado, on with the show!...er...story!...yeah...**

**Metempsychosis**

**by**

**I Am Atrocity**

**Chapter III: Grave Reunions**

**'Reflecting on this life. Through the eyes of ancients. The wisdom of beyond. CHANT! Chant them down. DOWN! Into nothing. This power screams out from within. Like the tree's that struggle towards the sun. Once again in due season we are reborn. Strike down the heathen. THIS MUST END. Swaying deeply in rhythm with the winds. There are eternal lessons within it's pulse. Raising their false banners of hope. Lies everlasting. Fighting to save their self interest. DREAD UPRISING. An End to it all. DREAD UPRISING. Watch as they fall.'**

**- Dread Uprising, by Shadows Fall.**

Voldemort spun in a slow circle viewing those gathered and taking note of the gaps in the ranks that had been left open for individuals that had not shown their faces, or masks, as the case may be. "Welcome back, my friends, my Death Eaters. Please, stand. Stand up. Stand before your Lord."

Some of the masked figures looked to those beside them, as if to ask confirmation that they had heard right. Voldemort's voice had been soft, understanding and gentle. This was not something they were used to and it put them immediately on guard. Finally, one of them decided to follow his master's command and rose to his feet.

Voldemort smiled at the lone figure, then looked at those still kneeling. He raised a hairless brow in a silent question of whether or not they were going to do as he had said. One by one, they all began to rise to their feet.

"While I appreciate your display of loyalty, let us not waste our time on such pointless formalities." Voldemort paced around the circle, looking at each of them in turn. Many lowered their heads, unable to meet his gaze, even through the anonymity granted to them by their Death Eater masks.

Every few feet, he would stop and look upon the unfilled spaces in the ranks and his eyes would narrow and his nostrils would flare in disdain.

Finally, he returned to his starting point in front of the grave, his back facing Harry as though he had forgotten about him, or as if he were no longer worthy of acknowledgment. Not that Harry minded all that much; he had stared back into those pale, milky eyes that were so full of hate and anger that he welcomed the reprieve.

"Thirteen years...Thirteen years since we last laid eyes on each other, and yet here you all stand, as though it were only yesterday. Thirteen years and we are still united under the shadow of the Dark Mark. Or are we?" His gaze hardened as he peered around him. "Thirteen years..." he murmured softly to himself. "The foul odor of _guilt_ hangs heavy upon this gathering."

A wave of shifting went through the crowd and the rustling of robes was heard intermixed with the nervous jitters and mutterings that greeted Voldemort's words. Some even dared to take a step or two back from the circle, while others merely looked away in shame and self-disgust.

Voldemort inhaled, his slit-like nostrils flaring wide. "You all appear to be in full form, your powers and positions intact, and yet I cannot help but wonder. I cannot help but think: Why? Why did none of you come to my aid in my darkest hour? Why did none of you seek me out in my weakened state? Why did not a single one of you try to find me, your Lord, whom you have sworn eternal allegiance to? Could it be that you believed me truly gone? Or perhaps your loyalties now lie elsewhere...Could it be that some among you now crawl upon hands and knees to be fed from the hand of that peasant champion of the Muggle and Mudblood? The figurehead of the Blood Traitors." He sneered at them and hissed out, "Dumbledore?"

There was a sudden outcry from all of those gathered, voices overlapping and drowning each other out in their rush to deny their Lord's claims.

Voldemort snarled at them and screeched out, "SILENCE!"

The crowd immediately fell quiet.

Voldemort walked over and planted himself in front of one of the Death Eaters, the one who had been the first to stand before. "You, you and others knew the measures I had taken. You knew that I had taken precautions against mortal death, and yet even you stayed away and did not search, even amidst the signs, the clues, the _whispers_ of my enduring existence. What excuses do you present, Lucius?"

The Death Eater, now identified as Lucius Malfoy, reached up and removed his mask, then lowered his hood, revealing his long, platinum-blonde hair and icy blue eyes. Even in the uniform robe that made him part of a set and his jaw set against showing fear, the Patriarch of the Malfoy family stood tall and his head was held high and he gave off an aura of one who commands the utmost respect from those around him. When he spoke, his voice was steady and strong and ever-refined. "My lord, I can offer no excuses for my absence and lack of action on your behalf. I will, should you wish it, accept any punishment you deem necessary to inflict upon me."

Voldemort held Lucius' gaze for a long, tense moment, then he smiled. "Ah, Lucius, ever the image of composure. You are right of course, there is no excuse for your actions, a fact you readily and completely understand. But, the fault lies not just with you..." He raised his wand, "_Crucio!_" Lucius did not break eye contact as Voldemort's curse caused the man beside him to fall to the ground, screaming in intense agony.

After a long moment of the man's cries filling the air, causing the ranks to shift uncertainly and speak together in hushed voices, Voldemort let the curse end and the man lay panting and moaning on the ground.

"Get up, Avery!" Voldemort kicked the downed man in the side as he took to pacing the circle again.

In his previous life, Harry had often wondered why the Death Eaters continued to follow Voldemort when he acted in this manner. Why they did not fight back when he treated them as little more than dirt. Or why they accepted him as a leader when he was, essentially, everything they stood in opposition of. He was a half-blood wizard. And, now, he did not even appear human. But, even before now, he knew the answer to that question: Fear. Pure and simple fear. What had possibly started as loyalty out of respect and charisma had devolved into one of the basest of motivators.

And Voldemort was exercising his ability to instill fear in others now. He held himself to his full height, he directed his hate-filled eyes toward his followers' own averted ones. And now, his monstrous features lent aid to his already terrible image and aura.

He stopped in front of another Death Eater, who's body language told that he was fighting the urge to flee.

"What of you, MacNair? What excuse do you give?"

MacNair fidgeted and stuttered. "M-my L-lord, I-I-I-"

Voldemort growled and hissed, "_CRUCIO!_"

MacNair tossed and writhed on the ground at the Dark Lord's feet while said Dark Lord looked on in disgust. After almost double the time he had tortured Avery, he released the curse and left MacNair gasping for breath on the ground at the inner rim of the circle.

Three more Death Eaters received similar punishment, starting with Crabbe Sr., then Goyle Sr., and ending with Nott Sr.

"I confess myself disappointed. Yes, I am disappointed in you all. Unlike those most-loyal who have found themselves locked away in that most hellish place called Azkaban, none of you have any excuse as to why you _betrayed_ me." Voldemort sneered at them. "Only one came back to me and proved his loyalty. He currently secrets himself amongst the enemy, and he has given me a most precious gift this night. It is because of him that I am again able to stand before you now."

Wormtail, who had crawled forward into the circle looked up pleadingly. "Master, I returned to you, please..."

Voldemort took a few steps to stand over Peter. "You, you returned to me out of _fear_, not loyalty. Never forget that, Peter. Never, ever, forget that." He looked at Wormtail's still-bleeding stump. "This pain is what you deserve, you know this. Don't you?"

Wormtail nodded rapidly, dry-sobbing, his tears having run empty. "Y-yes, Master, I do...please..."

Harry wondered if Voldemort was going to let the rat-like man bleed out and die right there. His face had gone very pale and grey, clammy and cold to the touch. While he wouldn't lose any sleep if he did, Harry couldn't help but feel some small amount of sympathy for the wretched man, which he quickly snuffed out. No one should have to die like that, especially after giving so much, even if it was all for the wrong things.

Just when it looked like Wormtail was going to just give up and let himself die, Voldemort spoke again. "Quit your sniveling, Wormtail. It is most unbecoming." He pointed his wand down at the former-Marauder. "I suppose, you _have_ had your uses. Never let it be said that Voldemort is not generous. Never let it be said that he does not reward those who deserve it. Never let it be said that he does not give unto those who have earned it."

He waved his wand in a long arc, leaving a trail of what looked like molten silver in its wake. The silver gathered together and molded itself into the shape of a hand, an engraving of a serpent decorating the back of it and coiling around the wrist. The hand floated down and attached itself to Wormtail's bleeding arm, stopping the blood-flow instantly.

Wormtail breathed a sigh of relief as he looked down at his new attachment. "Oh, Master, thank you...thank you...it...it's beautiful...thank you..."

Voldemort acknowledged the gratitude and moved away as Wormtail attempted to kiss the hem of his robe. Wormtail frowned at the snub and looked away as he pulled himself to his feet. "Never forget, Wormtail."

"Never, my lord! Never!"

Voldemort nodded and continued around the circle. He moved on until he was back in front of Lucius, he looked beside the man, where there was a gap. "The LeStranges should stand here, but they are bound and chained in the vilest, darkest tomb of Azkaban. They will be granted every honor when they are liberated." He stopped in front of another gap, larger than the last. "Six should stand here. But alas, three have fallen in the name of our cause, one is too cowardly to return and will be dealt with accordingly, another, I fear, has deserted us completely. And, the last, is my most loyal, and, as I said before, is positioned amongst the enemy."

He nodded imperiously.

"Yes, and, again, as I said before, it is through his tireless efforts that I am able to stand before you this night and by his hand that our guest of honor was delivered unto our presence." he turned to where Harry was still bound, though he had all but ceased his struggling. "Yes, yes, young Harry Potter here has kindly joined us this evening for my coming home party."

He smile up at Harry as if sharing some secret joke with him. Harry glared back defiantly and spit at Voldemort's feet.

Voldemort chuckled, as did the ring of Death Eaters. "So spirited, isn't he." It was at this moment that Nagini reemerged from beyond the circle and began to slither lazily around the headstone Harry was tied to.

"I owe you much, young Harry. So, so much. Not only did you provide a means for me to return, but you have also given me all that I need to finally kill you, once and for all." Voldemort reached up and brushed the backs of his fingers against Harry's cheek in an almost intimate manner. Harry turned his head away, causing Voldemort to snicker. "Yes, all your defenses are gone. The blood-protection that your filthy mother's sacrifice granted you is no more. Behold, I can touch you now." With those words, he pressed his finger onto Harry's scar.

Harry's head was suddenly on fire, or at least felt like it. His scream split the silence that had fallen during Voldemort's little speech. Harry felt like someone was stabbing a knife into his head and twisting it. His throat was quickly going raw from his screams and his eyes were welling up with pained tears. He clenched his eyes shut in an effort to hold them back. He would be damned if he let himself be humiliated further than he already was.

"You all believed that this _boy_ could be the cause of my downfall?" Voldemort wondered aloud. "Hm, now that I look upon him properly, I see nothing special about him. He breaths...he bleeds," Voldemort grabbed the arm that Wormtail had cut to draw his blood earlier, which was still throbbing and oozing blood in a slow trickle, and ran his thumb over the wound, smearing the blood. He then brought the thumb to his mouth and licked the blood away with his forked tongue. "He is, as you would say, _only human_." He pointed his wand at Harry and said almost-lazily, "_Crucio._"

Harry's pain doubled, only this time it was spread throughout his entire body. He swore he could feel the invisible flames licking at his flesh; it had been so long, he had almost forgotten what it felt like to be tortured so.

Voldemort held him under the curse, his face alight with glee, and Harry thrashed and shook, clawing against his binds. His face contorted and his teeth ground against each other even as his screams escaped past them. Voldemort began to laugh joyously and released the curse, clapping his hands as he spun in a slow circle. "I must say, Harry, you fare better under my wand than most of my followers. But, enough play, let us end this, now."

With a wave of that pale white wand, Harry felt his binds disappear and the statue release him. He fell forward, his arms reaching out on instinct to try and break his fall. He crashed heavily to the earth and lay there, groaning. He could hear the Death Eaters laughing softly at his misfortune and he slowly forced himself to climb back to his feet, where he wavered unsteadily. His head was spinning again and he leaned against the grave of Tom Riddle until everything righted itself.

While Harry regained his composure, Voldemort swept over and scooped Harry's fallen wand up from the grass. He turned and tossed it as Harry's feet. "You'll be needing this, I think."

Harry scowled down at his wand, then glared at Voldemort. He slowly reached down and plucked the wand from the ground and righted himself just as slowly. He was wary of sudden movements, worried that they way make his head spin again or worse be taken an attack and result in his immediate and premature end...for the eighth time. He refused to die here. Not only would he have failed again, but his Overseer would be far, far from happy and Harry was certain that he would end up learning whether or not someone could be killed while they were already dead.

He righted himself and turned to face Voldemort, who looked on mockingly. "Ready?"

Harry squared his shoulders and then lowered himself into a ready stance.

Voldemort 'tsk'ed. "Now, now, Harry, surely Dumbledore taught you some manners. First, we must bow to each other, it is only proper that foes award each other such respect. Don't want to disappoint the old man now do we? _Bow_!"

Harry fought against it, but he felt the weight of Voldemort's magic pushing on his shoulders, forcing him forward in a bow. Voldemort dipped his own head regally in response but did not let his magic let go its pressure. He waved his wand, and a rush of energy blasted into Harry's chest, sending him flying back into the gravestone of Tom Riddle. He crumbled into a heap at the base, gasping in pain.

Voldemort cackled evilly and waved his wand again, lifting Harry back up and then letting him fall again. His feet connected with the earth and his injured leg gave way and he collapsed yet again. Voldemort laughed louder, and some of the Death Eaters joined in.

Harry tried to climb back to his feet again, but Voldemort was not through with him yet. A third wave of the wand and Harry was pushed, face-first, into the ground. He felt more than heard his glasses crack and snap in two.

Voldemort circled him casually, poised to strike, his movements smooth and graceful as that of a jaguar stalking its prey. He lifted Harry up with his magic again and then slammed him down once more. Harry cried out as he connected with the hard, unyielding earth.

The Death Eaters were openly laughing now.

Voldemort came to kneel beside Harry. He reached out and picked up Harry's broken glasses. "Uh-oh, that won't do, now will it?" He stood and waved his wand over the disfigured spectacles and they instantly began reassembling themselves. He then kicked Harry in the ribs, forcing him to roll over onto his back, then knelt down again. Almost-gently, he placed the glasses back on Harry's face. "There now, that's better, is it not?"

Harry cursed quietly as he attempted to sit up, only for Voldemort to place his large, spider-like hand on the boy's chest and shove him back down. "Know when you are beaten, Harry Potter." He stood back to his full height. "It is curious...Yes...You all see how _foolish_ it was for anyone to believe that this mere child could ever hope to defeat me. There can be no mistake." He looked down at Harry and pointed his wand down at him. "Prepare to die, Harry Potter. Fear not, you'll be with your dear muggle mother soon enough. Any last words?"

Harry tightened his grip on his wand, which he had somehow managed not to drop during the beating he had taken just a few moments previously. His eyes darted around, searching for a way out of his rather precarious predicament. There was no way that '_Priori Incantatem_' was going to save him this time.

The TriWizard Cup lay outside the circle of Death Eaters, about six meters away. Cedric's body was about a meter away from the Cup, laying between himself and the Cup. Harry knew that he needed to get to the Cup and Cedric as quickly as possible if he was going to get out of this alive. He briefly considered just leaving Cedric's body behind, but quickly dismissed it; there was no way he was going to do Cedric the disservice of abandoning him, even in death. But even with that resolution, there was still the issue of reaching it. He needed some sort of distraction in order to get away.

A soft rustling sound reached his ears and he looked to the side. At the base of the grave, Nagini was coiled, sensing that feeding time was near, waiting for her master to give the word.

An idea formed in Harry's head.

He got his wand ready as discretely as possible as he looked back up at Voldemort, who was waiting expectantly. "Yeah...Sod off!" Harry rolled over suddenly and pointed his wand at Nagini. "_Avada Kedavra!_"

The green blast connected with the large Snake and she began twisting around in her death throes. Voldemort let out a cry that was drowned out by the unearthly wailing scream that cut through the air as the Horcrux fought to cling to a dead vessel, itself fading fast, and fell to his knees, his hands coming up to his chest as it heaved, the feeling of losing a piece of his soul crashing into him like a freight train.

Harry wasted no time in scrambling to his feet and making a dash for it. The Death Eaters were too stunned to react quickly enough and Harry barreled through their ranks like a rugby player, knocking a few down in the process. He reached Cedric's side and tucked his wand away, then took a handful of his robes, next he grasped the Cup in his other hand. He had just a split second to look back at Voldemort, who was looking after him with a shocked expression on his face. He was pointing at Harry, struggling to utter a command, his pale hand grasping at Lucius Malfoy's robe as he struggled to pull himself to his feet.

As it would turn out, before Voldemort could find his voice, Harry felt a tug and he was pulled away from the graveyard and transported across the British Isle and deposited back in Scotland, outside the giant hedge maze that had acted as the battlefield for the Third Task. The last thing he saw of the graveyard were the icy blue eyes of Lucius Malfoy watching his exit with what he could only liken to piqued interest.

Harry's feet crashed into the earth for the third time that night, and for the third time, his leg could not hold his weight and he fell onto his side. Cedric's body landed with a dull thud next to him and the Cup went rolling away. Harry let himself roll onto his back and he gazed up at the clear sky, seeing the stars twinkling merrily. He silently cursed them. They had no right to be shining with such beauty when everything down here on earth had gone so horribly that night. It was like they were taunting him. He let his eyes slip closed.

Distantly, Harry could hear the roar of the crowds, though it was like background noise compared to the sound of his own heartbeat thumping in his ears. Then, he felt hands on him. Fingers at the side of his neck, checking his pulse. More fingers prying open his eyelids. A light shining into his tired eyes, forcing him to squint and try to pull away.

"He's alive," he heard a voice say above him. It sounded like Madam Pomfrey. Harry had never been so happy to hear her voice in his entire life.

He opened his eyes and watched her rush over to Cedric. She placed her fingers to his pulse point as well, waved her wand over him, then turned to look at someone and shook her head solemnly. It was then that the anguished cry of Amos Diggory was heard. Harry closed his eyes again, not being able to bear the look of utter heartbreak on the older man's face as he dissolved into tears, hugging the lifeless form of his son against his chest as though he were an infant. Harry felt his own heart ache and his eyes fill with stinging tears as he thought of his failure to save to the other boy.

The crowd was no longer cheering and a horrified silence had fallen over them all.

Harry continued to lay there, unable and unwilling to move. He felt someone kneel down next to him and a hand landed softly on his shoulder. "Harry, my boy. Are you alright" Dumbledore's grandfatherly voice asked.

Harry nodded minutely. "Yes, Professor, I'm alright." He felt the tears spill forth and roll down his cheeks. "I couldn't save him."

Dumbledore sighed sadly and gave Harry's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I'm sure you did all that you could, Harry."

Harry didn't respond and just lay there, tears rolling freely down his face. Now that the adrenaline had drained away, he felt heavy and weak.

It was a long moment before Dumbledore spoke again. "What happened in there, Harry?" His voice was kind and let Harry know that he did not have to answer.

Harry shook his head slowly as more tears spilled forth. "I...I can't...I couldn't..." A sob wracked his body. "...I couldn't save him..."

Dumbledore could easily seen the distress on Harry's face and he patted his arm. "Shh, hush now, child. You need say no more until you are ready. Quiet now, try to get some sleep. You've been through much tonight." He stood up. "Madam Pomfrey, would you please take young Harry here to the Hospital wing." He looked down at the still-sobbing boy. "And a Dreamless Sleep potion, I think, would be wise."

Harry wanted to protest, but he could already feel his eyes growing heavy with the promise of sleep. In the next moment, he felt himself levitated off the ground and then he was moving.

After a moment, he was carried passed the stands and a form darted out from the crowd and to his side. A small, soft hand grasped him own and gave it a squeeze. He turned his head to the side and peered out from half-lidded eyes to see a bushy-haired silhouette beside him. They passed a torch and the light illuminated the worried face of Hermione Granger. Harry tried to smile up at her, but his lips merely tilted slightly. She seemed to understand though because she smiled back and gave his hand another squeeze.

Harry was in and out of consciousness for the next several minutes. The journey across the grounds was a blur, though he briefly recalled when they passed through the front doors and into the Entrance Hall. Then he awoke again when they entered the Hospital Wing, then again when he was lowered onto his assigned cot. Hermione did not release his hand once during the entire trip.

He was lifted up and a goblet of potion was pressed against his lips, which he sipped slowly. Once he had drained the entire goblet, he was lowered back down onto his back. He felt somebody remove his glasses and set them on the table at his bedside. Then he heard the sound of a chair being drug across the floor then come to a stop at his side.

"Sleep, Harry. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere," Hermione told him comfortingly.

Harry closed fingers around hers briefly before he felt sleep pull him into its embrace.

**XXXX**

In the doorway of the Hospital Wing, a hulking figure stood watching the pair. He scowled, knowing that he could not get to the boy. His features began to morph slowly and he gasped, turning away and running back down the corridor.

He reached his office just in time and slammed the door closed behind him. His features returned to their original state as he tossed the fake eye onto the floor. Barty Crouch Jr. stood in clothes far too large for him as he began searching through his potions satchel for a bottle of his Polyjuice Potion. One by one he pulled the empty bottles out and then returned them. He cursed under his breath. He had none left and his next batch would not be ready for several more days yet.

Coming to a decision, he began gathering up any essentials he had and tossed them into a rucksack. He couldn't stay at Hogwarts a moment longer. He was sure to be discovered. He had seen the large cut on Harry Potter's arm and he was fairly certain that the ritual had been a success, though he could not figure out how the boy had managed to survive.

Throwing the last item into the bag, he quickly changed out of his too large clothes and back into his own attire, then rushed out of the room.

He all but ran through the corridors as he made his way down to the ground floor. As he was crossing the Entrance Hall, the doors burst open, revealing Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall, and Minister Cornelius Fudge.

Barty stopped short and stared wide-eyed at the four people standing before him.

Dumbledore tilted his head in a curious manner while everyone else started with surprise.

Nobody moved, or said a word, for a long, pregnant moment and one could almost cut the sudden tension in the room with a knife.

The stare-down endured for a count of ten, then Barty dropped his rucksack and drew his wand, pointing it at the group in general, his aim moving from person to person every few seconds. The others, minus Dumbledore, who continued to watch Barty curiously, drew their wands and pointed them at the long-believed-dead Death Eater.

"Now, now, Barty, don't do anything rash," Dumbledore told him, keeping his voice calm. "We don't want to hurt you."

Barty growled and flicked his tongue out to lick his lip; it was his tell-tale, signature nervous twitch. It was obvious by the way his eyes darted about, that he did not believe the elder man. "Get out of my way, Dumbledore."

Dumbledore shook his head calmly. "I can't do that, Barty." He raised his hands, palm outward, to his sides, showing that he was unarmed and offered no threat. "What are you doing here?"

Barty laughed in a half-mad way. "Doesn't matter, now. My work is done. You're too late, old man."

Dumbledore frowned. "What are you talking about?" He reached out with a Legilimency probe, but was soundly repelled by Barty's well-developed shields.

Instead of answering, Barty merely cackled. "You're too late!"

During this exchange, Snape, McGonagall and Fudge had fanned out, effectively trapping Barty between them and the staircase at his back.

Barty looked around at them, his tongue flicking out again as his situation dawned on him.

"You've nowhere to go, Barty. Why don't you put down that wand and we can settle this peacefully," Dumbledore suggested, taking a slow step closer the cornered young man.

Barty shook his head and grinned humorlessly. "Oh, no!" His eyes darted around, seeking a way out. "I don't think so, Dumbledore. I know what 'settle this peacefully' means. You want to cart me back off to Azkaban." He shook his head. "I'm not going back." He let out was sounded like a half-laugh, half-sob. "I'll die before I go back!"

The others shifted, preparing to fight. Sensing their movements, Barty twisted and fired a curse at Fudge, who managed to just drop down fast enough for it sail harmlessly over his head. Not missing a beat, Barty fired his next curse at Snape, who casually deflected it with his own wand in a well-practiced manner; it was almost elegant.

It was at this point that Dumbledore drew his own wand from within his robes, prepared to join the fight, should things get too far out of control. But, Snape, who had now engaged the younger Crouch in a one-on-one duel, was holding his own rather splendidly.

The two men traded spells and curses at an accelerated rate, neither able to gain the upper hand on the other. Dumbledore and the others could merely watch, and keep on their guard as every few spells sent from Barty's wand were sickly green Killing Curses, which Snape would have to dodge rather than parry.

On instinct, Dumbledore flicked his wand, sealing the entrance to the school, as well as any other entrances to the Entrance Hall; he did not want any students wandering in aimlessly and getting themselves caught in the crossfire between these two former Death Eaters. There had already been one too many deaths that night for his liking.

Finally, after several minutes of dueling, Snape had managed to back Barty into a proverbially corner. Barty's back came into contact with the wards that Dumbledore had erected around the room as he had attempted to mount the stairs that led up to the first floor corridor.

Barty stumbled and flailed for a second. Snape, seeking to take advantage of the momentary distraction, shouted, "_Expelliarmus!_"

The pulse of magic from Snape's wand hit Barty and his wand was forced from his hand. It clattered to the floor a few feet away. Barty, seeing his foes begin to advance, thinking that he was disarmed, reached inside his long leather coat and drew out his own, personal wand; the one that was not laying at the foot of the stairs had belonged to Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody.

Seeing the second wand in his hand, the others halted their advance, then slowly encircled him, blocking off any chance of escape.

Barty looked around at them, looking for any way out, but finding none. An expression of determination settled over his features and he then changed his stance. "I'll _never_ go back," he snarled as he lifted his wand and placed the tip against his temple. Then, quietly, he uttered, "_Avada Kedavra._"

The green spell ignited against his head and he fell lifeless to the floor while the others stared on in shock, their mouths hanging open.

Dumbledore looked down sadly at the young man's form. Yet another life wasted, the second of the night. He was growing weary of seeing the young throw their lives away or having them taken from the before their time. The elderly man walked forward and knelt down beside the still body of Barty Crouch Jr. and gently reached out to close those dead eyes. He sighed sadly looked away.

As he turned his head, the wand still laying discarded against the base of the stairs caught his eye and he wandlessly summoned it to his hand. He rolled it between his long fingers, taking in the details that decorated it and made it unique. He then held it up in front of his eyes, gazing at it with worry.

"This is Alastor's wand. Severus," he called over to the resident potions master, "Hurry up to Moody's office. I'd wager you'd find that our friends here has been keeping him captive all years." He rose back up to a standing position. "Polyjuice Potion, I don't doubt." With a flick of his wand, the wards he had set up were dismantled.

Snape nodded and rushed off up the staircase. Fudge was busy calling upon some Aurors to come and remove Crouch's body from the grounds. Minerva stood off to the side with her hand pressed to her lips as she looked down at the boy she had once taught there in that very school. Dumbledore smiled sadly and patted her comfortingly on the should before he made his way up the stairs as well, intent on heading back to his own office to clear his mind.

As he walked, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something big that he had missed, nor could he help but wonder what had really happened that night. First young Mr. Diggory's death, Harry's distress and now Barty Crouch Jr.'s suicide. There was a darkness building, he could feel it in his bones. He had felt it for a great while now. He just hoped that, whatever it was, he would be ready when it was revealed.

**XXXX**

**A/N: Alright, another chapter down. This chapter wore me out...writing it, that is. I tried to keep it in line with the original with deviations to show that the smallest things could affect the way events play out. I hope there were enough changes to keep everyone happy, though I don't hold out too much hope for pleasing everyone as that is, quite literally, impossible.**

**I also want it to be noted that I don't hate Dumbledore. I may not agree with his methods, but I don't dislike him as a character either. I've decided to write him as a grandfatherly figure who is set in his ways. He has his own plans in place for Voldemort's return but he also genuinely cares about and loves Harry. I know everyone takes offense to the fact that Dumbledore basically raised Harry like a lamb for slaughter, and so do I, but I like to think that because he knew Harry was a Horcrux that he also knew that he would not really die when hit with the Avada Kedavra. I don't if everyone, or anyone, feels the same, but there it is.**

**Barty Crouch Jr., in my original outline of this chapter, was supposed to survive and escape Hogwarts, thus becoming a factor later. But, then I realized that that would be in direct conflict with my 'fixed moments' limitation (which will not always be a factor, give it time). Now, the argument could be made that Barty's soul was only sucked out and his body didn't die until a later date and he could have survived for a while longer, but I believe that once the soul leaves the body, that person is dead, whether or not the body still functions. So, Barty was destined to die that night of the 24th of June, 1995. **

**As always, leave a review, but keep your fire to yourself. Be sure to point out any mistakes and typos that I missed. Thank you.**

**Until next time.**

**- Atrocity.**

**P.S.: I made a video trailer for this story and posted it on my YouTube channel. There are two, one with music only and one that has sounds and dialogue like a real film trailer.**

**I also have a DeviantArt account with the completed cover for this story (not my best work, I have to say. A bit rough, but they get the job done), not much difference from the one currently in use for this story, I'll get around to updating that whenever I get around to it, as well as its planned sequels – which will see the light of day if this story does well – so we shall see how that goes (the sequel ideas were also original ideas for this story that I decided would be better as sequels).**

**Check them out and let me know what you think.**

**YouTube link:**

** www . youtube watch ? V = KlZrZI66c70**

**DeviantArt link:**

** risinginferno13 . Deviantart **

**Stop by either, or both, and say hi! Don't forget to leave a review, but flames are impolite, and we don't want to be thought of as anything less than gentlemen and women now would we?...thank you for your consideration.**


	4. Warnings

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related and/or affiliated works.**

**A/N: So, chapter four is here. I hope you all enjoy this one. Thank you for all of your reviews and words of encouragement, and critique, those are very important as well. Hopefully, I am deviating enough from canon to keep you all interested, but not so much that I lose you all completely along the way. For anyone who didn't read the Author's Note at the end of the previous chapter, I have made a video 'trailer' for this story. It may not make any sense to you yet, but hopefully, as the story progresses, it will become more clear. I'll post the link again at the end of the chapter. **

**Also note: as I have done before in my other stories, I state Hermione's middle name as 'Jane' rather than 'Jean', as the former is the original form. Personally, I think changing an already established character's name to accommodate a new one is childish and unnecessary. There is no reason why Rowling couldn't have named her 'Dolores Jean Umbridge', or some other name, instead of making poor Hermione have to change hers. But, I digress.**

**Also, note that in chapter 2 I made the mistake of saying that Harry already knew about the Horcrux inside himself. As the setting of this story contradicts that, as Harry didn't know that for certain until near the end of book seven and in this story Harry died at the beginning of book seven. The mistake has been corrected. Thank you to 'Heroes are overrated' for pointing this out to me.**

**Now, without further ado, on with the story!**

**METEMPSYCHOSIS**

**by**

**I Am Atrocity**

**Chapter IV: Warnings**

**'We're out of focus, we've lost control. I blame our ego, and you call me names. You're told that you are trapped below, and dark signs helped to prove. You got to reach further, for what life shall provide. Feeling pressure from the fold, he believes the dream is over. Drained blue eyes, scorching fire. The whole meaning comes undone.'**

**- Dark Signs, by In Flames.**

Harry was floating in a sea of nothingness, his body, limbs and all, felt weightless and almost empty, as though there was nothing but air within him, nothing holding him down. The only word that could describe the feeling to him was anticipation. It was like that moment when you fall or jump from some high place when your body and mind finally realize what you've just done and your stomach drops while your heart jumps up into your throat. It was a rush of adrenaline intermixed with a dose of fear and uncertainty.

He would have tried to examine his surroundings, but all that he could see was black, empty space. A void, yawning out beneath him, prepared to swallow him whole in its ever-gaping maw.

He turned in a slow, leisurely circle, his body positioned and sagging as if he were suspended beneath several feet of water, but was neither sinking nor floating to the surface. He was simply there, and yet he was nowhere. In that moment in time, he merely existed. There was no purpose to his being, no rhyme or reason to this state of suspension. All he could do was float and wonder where he was and why he was there. Somewhere, in the back of his thoughts, he had a niggling feeling that there was something unnatural about this whole experience; something told him that he was not supposed to be conscious at all. He suspected that he was dreaming, but that didn't seem right either, as he was quite certain that he had been given a Dreamless Sleep potion, and this defied that memory. The fact that he could actively call up that fact and realize that it was in direct contradiction to his current state was a testament to the strangeness of the moment.

Then, as if something could sense that he was quickly becoming very aware, the darkness began to shift, then lift away, leaving Harry suspended above a room made of stone, with a desk that seemed to be connected seamlessly to the floor, as though the entire room had been carved out of the earth like a cave. There were bookshelves that were merely cubbyhole-like depressions in the walls and two chairs that were also seamlessly connected the floor, one on either side of the desk. Harry was floating above one of the chairs.

Harry was filled with a sense of familiarity as he looked down upon the room. It was only a few hours past that he had been sitting in the very chair that he was dangling above at the moment. This brought a completely new though to him mind. What was he doing back here? He hadn't died again had he? He didn't think so. He didn't recall dying. He was certain that if he had been in danger of imminent death, Madam Pomfrey would have said something instead of merely giving him a sleeping potion. Unless he was beyond help and she simply wanted to help ease his passing. But, no, that didn't seem right to him at all.

So, if he wasn't dead, then why was he back in the Land of the Dead?

There was a clanking noise like one of the heavy metal door handles of Hogwarts being lifted, followed by the creaking of a heavy door swinging open. Harry could not make himself turn to seen who had entered, but he did not have to, as it turned out, as the hooded form of his Overseer (he assumed it was the same one, he couldn't really tell, what with the shifting features and all) stepped into view as he, it, circled the desk and took a seat, laying a file folder on the desktop as he did so. He shifted and pulled the chair he was sitting in closer the desk, the base sliding forward fluidly, never breaking free from the floor, to which it was still seamlessly connected.

The Overseer flipped open the file and began leafing through the contents, never once even acknowledging Harry's presence in the room.

The hooded being shook his head, his features shifting in a mad flurry as his emotions spiked in annoyance. "Why do they never listen?" he pondered aloud, his voice a strange, fluctuating mixture of varying tones and layers. It made his words sound distorted in a way that sent a chill through Harry.

He did not remember his voice sounding like that the last time he had spoke to him.

As if sensing his confusion, the voice spoke again. "This is how I usually sound, boy. I have the ability to change it at will, which I normally do in the presence of mortals, it makes us less frightening to them. We can also change our appearance at will. Usually, we take on the appearance of someone close to the deceased, it puts them at ease. Currently, I see no point in putting on a fronts with you." He lifted his head from where he had been reading as he closed the file. His eyes, the colors changing from blue to green to red and then to black, then in reverse order before changing to brown, and so on, landed on Harry and he tilted his head in a confused and concerned manner. "Well, don't just hang there. Get down here, we need to talk." There was a hint of impatience in his voice...er..._voices_.

Harry felt his heart jump all the way up into his chest and his stomach dropped as gravity suddenly resumed its effects on him and he fell, flailing, from his place by the ceiling and landed in a heap on the floor beside the second chair.

Groaning, he pulled himself to his feet, patting at his pants and shirt, attempting, out of habit, to remove dust and dirt that was not there.

"Have a seat, Harry," the Overseer told him, gesturing to the chair.

Harry scowled at him, but sat down nonetheless.

"Now, I'm pretty sure that you have absolutely no idea why I've called you back here, but, then again, I wouldn't expect you to know that." His eyes were no longer on him, instead, they were looking up at the plain, dull stone ceiling in disinterest. "It isn't common procedure to call someone back from the Land of the Living after they've been sent back, but then again it isn't normal to have to send someone back..." He frowned, as if something had dawned on him. "In fact, I'd go so far to say that it happens only once every thousand years or so. OK, maybe every couple hundred years, give or take. And, it's always a Child of Prophecy that gives us trouble. Hell, you should have seen how much trouble Judas gave us, you wouldn't believe how much that whole affair went wrong..."

Harry sighed. "Is there a point to all of this?" he asked, trying not to sound rude.

The Overseer frowned at him, not happy about being interrupted. "Yes, as a matter of fact, there is, as you say, 'a point to this'. The _point_ is, that _you_ don't listen very well."

Harry opened his mouth to ask what that meant, but was cut off.

"I can see by your expression that you have no idea what I'm talking about," The Overseer continued. "Hows about I reiterate some wisdom and you see if it rings a bell, how about that? Good. Now, I told you before, that certain moments in time are fixed. They are meant to happen and cannot be changed. It's a simple enough concept, when you think about it. Some moments are fixed, while others are in flux. Deaths are fixed moments, births are fixed moments. What you eat for lunch, who you shag on your birthday, your school grades, whether or not that Granger girl lectures you because you _don't pay attention_, those are all in flux, and can change at a moment's, a _second's_, notice. That's the way the universe works. It is a system that has been in effect since time immemorial and it has worked without fail since its inception. It is this timeless, tried and true design that maintains the order, the _balance_ of the worlds. With this in mind, I hope you realize the severity of your actions."

Harry was baffled. What the hell was this guy talking about. "I don't understand..."

"_I know!_" the Overseer yelled. "That's what is so frustrating." He sighed, allowing his emotions to settle as he calmed once more. "Okay, let's take a different approach. In the graveyard, when I sent you back, you did something that was in direct opposition to what I told you _not_ to do. Can you tell me what that was?"

Harry shook his head as he wracked his memories of the event. Since he had lived the event twice, he had to sort the two different memories from each other.

"Do the words, 'Cedric, get back to the Cup' mean anything to you?" Harry's eyes widened. "Ah, there, you understand now, I can tell, I'm good like that."

Harry blinked. "All this because I told Cedric to run?"

The Overseer nodded. "Indeed. As I just said earlier, deaths are fixed moments in time. They must not be changed."

Harry tilted his head, a thought occurring to him. There was something strange about what the Overseer had just said. "Wait, you said earlier that they _can't _be changed," he pointed out.

"And?"

"Well, just then, you said..." Harry trailed off, unsure if he wanted to ask. He recalled something about there being Apocalyptic consequences if fixed moments were tampered with or changed.

"Oh, for the gods' sakes, out with it, boy!" the Overseer barked.

Harry swallowed. "Well, earlier you said that they _can't_ be changed, yet just a moment ago, you said that they _must not_ be changed. Does that mean that they _can_ be changed?"

The Overseer sat up straighter in his chair, his height towering over Harry, his face set into a deep frown. "That, child, is dangerous talk, and those are even more dangerous thoughts. Yes, I can hear what you're thinking, and I tell you again, as I did last time, that no good can come of it."

Harry looked away. He had been thinking of Sirius. It wasn't like he could help it, his thoughts immediately went to the possibilities. Who he could save this time around. He was sure that anyone in his position would think the same thing.

The Overseer looked on as Harry's face fell. His own features seemed to soften a bit and his voice was less harsh when he spoke next. "I know that it's hard to accept, Harry, but these are the rules. I didn't write them, but it's my job to make sure that they aren't broken by those under my charge. As far as my position on the chain of command goes, I am fairly low on the pole. So, even if I thought any good could come of changing something like that, I would not have the authority to allow it. I'm sorry." The last two words seemed to be hard for him to force out, but Harry somewhat appreciated the gesture.

"Right," Harry nodded, averting his eyes.

The Overseer frowned even more deeply, reading Harry's thoughts, and knowing that the message that he was trying to ingrain was not being well-received and the thoughts of trying to save those he loved were still present and prominent in his mind.

"Is that it?" Harry asked.

"Hm?" The Overseer hummed in question as he withdrew from Harry's thoughts.

Harry swallowed and ground his teeth. "Was that all you wanted to discuss? Because, if so, then I would very much like to go back to sleep now, if you don't mind."

The Overseer stared at him for a long moment, then nodded his hood-clad head slowly. "Yes, that was all. You may go." He waved his hand and Harry vanished from the room.

The Overseer leaned back in his chair, his elbows resting on the arms and his hands steepled in front of his face. His fingers were touched against his lips and his eyes had slipped closed in thought. "Why do I have the feeling that that boy is going to be the end of me?" He inhaled, then released his breath in a long, slow puff. "Nothing good will come of this..."

**XXXX**

Harry returned to consciousness slowly, gradually. At first, his thoughts were fuzzy and muddled, and he had no idea where he was or what he was doing there, but then in a steady flow, like the trickling of a gentle stream, the memories of the night before caught up with him. He remembered the journey across the river Styx. He remembered passing through the gates of the Underworld. He remembered his somewhat heated and confusing conversation with the Overseer, where he learned that he had died seven times before and was on what was likely to be his last chance. He remembered being thrown back into the graveyard at Little Hangleton. He remembered Cedric's death. He remembered Voldemort's rebirth. He remembered the torture. The pain. The anger. The fear. He remembered killing Nagini in order to escape; a stroke of genius on his part, if he was being honest. He remembered arriving back at Hogwarts and being taken to the Hospital Wing by Madam Pomfrey and Hermione. He remembered finding himself back in the Underworld and his subsequent conversation with the Overseer.

And, that, was where the memories ended. Nothing between that and waking except black. Blissful, comforting black.

So, after the review, he felt fairly certain that he knew where he was and what he would see when he opened his eyes. But, he wasn't ready to do that yet.

He could feel the soft, yet firm, mattress beneath him and the fluffy pillow against the side of his face, along with the depression where his head had lain the entire night. He could feel the fleecy sheets and blanket that covered him from chest to toe, and he could feel that he was pleasantly warm under said blankets.

He inhaled deeply as he shifted his position slightly, arching his back in a semblance of a stretch, then released the breath as he settled back down with a satisfied groan. He could feel a few lingering aches throughout his body from the ordeals of the day before, but they were more pleasant than bothersome. It was strange how that worked. After a long day of hard work or some other physical exertion, the aches in the muscles and back could feel almost soothing. Or maybe it was just him. He wasn't sure. Not that it really mattered.

He stayed like that for what may have been all of five minutes, before he sighed and opened his eyes.

As expected, he was met with the sight of the high ceiling of the Hospital Wing; the curved beams that resembled the inverted belly of a ship; the decorative, yet structurally supportive rafters. Yes, he knew the sight all too well, having spent more than his fair share of time in the very bed that he currently occupied. Of course, the image was a bit blurry due to a lack of glasses, but his memory was more than adequate in its recollection of the various details.

With the acquisition of his spectacles in mind, he turned his head to the side, to where he knew there was a table that would undoubtedly be acting as a sort of pedestal for his personal eyewear.

He stopped short, however, when his blurred vision landed upon a figure seated at his side.

He squinted, though the action was unnecessary. He knew very well who it was that was sitting there, perched comfortably on one of the rigid hospital chairs, legs crossed at the knee, the upper foot bouncing idly to an unheard rhythm, with a book held in one hand while the other fiddled absently with the opposite sleeve of her jumper. He couldn't help the smile that started his lips tilting upward at the, albeit bleary, sight.

"Morning, Hermione," he greeted with a grunt as he lifted himself up into a sitting position, one hand coming up to rub the remnants of sleep from his eyes as he turned and let his legs hang off the side of the bed, his feet touching on the cold floor. He noticed that he was no longer wearing his TriWizard outfit and instead was donned in a loose-fitting t-shirt and a pair of baggy, dark plaid sleeping trousers.

Hermione's head snapped up at the sound of his somewhat raspy voice. "Oh, Harry, you're awake!" Her book was set aside and she was on her feet in an instant, her hand darting out to grab his glasses off the table, just where he figured they'd be, and crouched down to place them gently on his face.

Harry reached up and adjusted them slightly so that they sat more comfortably on his nose, then held his arms out to the side as he stretched the stiffness from his back and shoulder. "Thanks," he murmured as he finished. He now sat hunched forward slightly, one forearm resting on his bent knee while the other hand came up to ruffle his already messy hair.

Hermione lowered herself back down onto her chair, her eye, full of concern, never leaving his face. "How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice kind, but laced with worry.

Harry shrugged. "I feel fine, all things considered. A little sore, but beyond that..." He let his sentence trail off and waved his hand in a 'there you have it' manner. Hermione frowned, though Harry didn't notice. "What time is it?" he asked, glancing up at one of the windows high up on the wall behind him.

Hermione lifted her arm and fulled back the sleeve of her loose blue, striped jumper, revealing her timepiece. "Just after noon," she said, pulling her sleeve back down.

Harry tilted his head. It wasn't as bad as he would have figured. "That's not so bad, then," he voiced.

"On the twenty-sixth," Hermione added.

Harry frowned, his eyes narrowing as he tried to remember the date of the Third Task. "Um..."

"The task was two days ago, Harry. You've been asleep for over a day!"

Harry looked up at Hermione, met her gaze, and saw the lingering fear and worry shining in those chestnut orbs. For a quick second, his mind jumped back to what the Overseer had said about he and Hermione being 'soul mates'. Of course, Harry never deny that he found Hermione attractive, she was by far one far one of the best looking witches in their year, or even those above and below them as well. Her mind was sharp and her intellect keen, and she had a fire in her that burned brighter than most, but she also had a softer side too, which she had on display now, where she was kind and gentle and understanding. Put all of this together, and he had no problem seeing how one might fall in love with Hermione Jane Granger.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably under his steady gaze and Harry realized that he had been staring. He cleared his throat and rubbed his hands nervously on his knees while Hermione looked away, her cheeks stained scarlet.

"Hm, right then..." He frowned again as another thought entered his mind and his looked back up at his best friend. "Hermione, have you been here with me the whole time?"

If possible, Hermione's cheeks became even more red, as she nodded her head and averted her gaze.

Harry wasn't sure whether to be grateful or troubled by this revelation. He decided to settle for grateful. Seeing her blush, he again wondered about them supposedly being meant to be together and wondered if all those years ago he had missed something. There were several instances where Hermione had done similar things to this, which most would simply chalk up to their great and enduring friendship, but Harry wondered now if he had simply not been looking hard enough. He resolved to think more on it later as the air around them was becoming thick with tension and the silence was growing awkward.

"Did you at least leave to have meals?" Harry asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

Hermione nodded. "Mm-hm. That and to bath in the mornings."

Harry swallowed and nodded, pushing the sudden mental image away. He was quite certain that Hermione bathing was not something he needed to be thinking about right now. That could lead to some rather embarrassing and highly awkward results.

They were saved from further uncomfortable silence by the doors of the Hospital Wing bursting open and the towering figure of Albus Dumbledore entering the room. What silence there had been was shattered by the loud, excited barking of a shaggy black dog that came trotting in behind Dumbledore, but soon left him behind as it made a dash for Harry, tail wagging happily.

Harry barely had time to bring his hands up as the dog jumped up onto the bed with him and began nuzzling him and attempting to lick his face. Harry laughed and playfully pushed the large, but skinny hound away. "Ah! Snuffles! You're nose is cold."

The dog merely barked in response and turned toward a giggling Hermione. He jumped off the bed and submitted her to a deluge of saliva as well. Hermione let out a half-cry half-laugh and raised her own arms to fend off the over-excited canine.

By this point, Dumbledore had reached them and Snuffles turned to him as well, but Dumbledore merely gave him and a look and he subsided, though he did run a few circles around the Headmaster's legs. Harry and Hermione laughed, while Dumbledore merely quirked his brow at the antics, though his eyes twinkled with mirth.

Finally, Snuffles settled down and sat at Harry's feet, looking up at the three humans.

Dumbledore gave him a look as if to ask 'are you finished?', and conjured up a chair when no further outburst were imminent.

The Headmaster leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands over his abdomen. He peered searchingly at Harry, as though trying to figure out some mystery. Finally, after a long moment of silence that was only broken by the sound of Snuffles' panting, the elder wizard spoke. "How are you feeling today, Harry?"

Harry shrugged, just as he had done when Hermione had asked him the same question earlier. "Alright, I suppose."

Dumbledore hummed softly to himself. "You gave us quite a scare the other night."

Harry nodded, not sure how to respond.

"I would very much like to speak to you about what happened during the task, but I'm afraid that this is not the place for that conversation." Dumbledore looked down at Snuffles, as if to emphasize his point. "Would you mind joining me in my office, Harry." He took note of Hermione. "You are, of course, welcome to join us as well, Ms. Granger."

Harry looked over at Hermione, catching her eye, then looked back to Dumbledore. "Not at all, Professor," he said, pushing himself to his feet.

He groaned at the stiffness in his joints and wavered slightly on his feet. Hermione was instantly at his side, her hands clasped onto his arm, steadying him. "Careful, Harry. Remember, you've been abed for almost two full days. You're going to be a bit stiff."

Harry nodded. "Right. Thanks."

He straightened up and stood more solidly, but Hermione did not release her grip on his arm. Harry was rather enjoying the attention and decided not to draw attention to it, lest it be withdrawn.

He lifted a hand toward the door, motioning for Dumbledore to walk ahead of them. He said, "Lead the way, Professor."

**XXXX**

**A/N: Alright, another chapter down. Let me know what you think.**

**This was a slower chapter, but it can't all be action, violence and conflict, else you lose chances to build your characters and their relationships up...character development, I believe it is called...strange how that seems to get set aside so often in favor of humor or senseless violence and 'trailer moments' as I like to call them. Quality over quantity, its something I've always tried, with varying degrees of success. I'm not perfect, no where near it, actually...hmm...**

**In other news, I mentioned before that I had made a video trailer for this story and posted it on my YouTube channel. There are two versions of it: The first is a 'complete' version, with sound effects and dialogue to give hints to the story; the second is a 'music only' version. I think that speaks for itself. I also have a DeviantART account where I have the completed cover for this story and its possible sequels – which will see the light of day if this story does well enough – we'll see.**

**YouTube link:**

** www . youtube watch ? V = KlZrZI66c70**

**DeviantArt link:**

** risinginferno13 . Deviantart **

**Stop by either, or both, and say hi! Don't forget to leave a review, but flames make fire and I have already burnt an offering recently, I have no need to do another so soon...thank you for your consideration.**

**Until next time, brothers and sisters,**

**- Atrocity.**

**P.S.: I made a Soundtrack/Playlist for this story, if anyone is intersted. Some of the songs are ones that I take quotes from, which can be found at the beginning of each chapter, but not all. These are just the main songs that I listen to while writing this story as they get me in the right mindset. I would explain what each song means to me in accordance with the story, but I might give away too much, sorry.**

**Oblivion – Mastodon (from the album Crack the Skye)**

**Afterlife**** – Avenged Sevenfold (from the album Avenged Sevenfold)**

**Remorse is for the Dead**** – Lamb of God (from the album Ashes of the Wake)**

**Our Friend Lazarus Sleeps**** – I Am Ghost (from the album Lovers' Requiem)**

**The Phoenix**** – Fall Out Boy (from the album Save Rock and Roll)**

**A Charge to Keep**** – Iced Earth (from the album Framing Armageddon) – Harry's Theme**

**Abhainn Mor**** – The Young Dubliners (from the album 9)**

**The World is Ugly**** – My Chemical Romance (from the album Conventional Weapons) –**** Harmony Theme**

**Eyes**** – King 810 (from the album Memoirs of a Murderer)**

**A New Beginning**** – Devil You Know (from the album The Beauty of Destruction)**

**Through Oblivion**** – In Flames (from the album Siren Charms)**

**Without You**** – Breaking Benjamin (from the album Dear Agony)**

**Survivor Guilt**** – Rise Against (from the album Endgame)**

**Battle Cry**** – Imagine Dragons (from the Battle Cry single)**

**Anthem of the Angels**** – Breaking Benjamin (from the album Dear Agony)**

**My Heartstrings Come Undone**** – Demon Hunter (from the album Summer of Darkness)**

**Burn**** – The Cure (from the Crow soundtrack)**

**Dark Side of Me**** – Coheed and Cambria (from the album The Afterman: Descension)**

**Death Whispered a Lullaby**** – Opeth (from the album Damnation)**

**Everybody Wants to Rule the World**** – Lorde (from the Catching Fire soundtrack)**

**Beneath the Glory**** – Vitas (from the Mulan: Rise of a Warrior soundtrack) – Main Theme**

**So, there it is. Give these songs a listen if you're curious.**

**- Atrocity.**


	5. Of Lies and Remorse

**IMPORTANT!: Just a heads-up, this may be the last chapter for a little while. A close family member just passed on this morning and I have to prepare for the funeral, which is this weekend. On top of that, I start a new job next monday. I'll still write in my spare time, but I can't promise any updates for a couple of weeks. Sorry.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its affiliated works or parent companies.**

**A/N: Welcome, welcome, welcome, to another chapter of Metempsychosis. I hope you all enjoyed the previous chapter and I also hope that you enjoy this one as well. **

**It goes without saying that your reviews are my life's blood on this site, I cannot stress that enough and I cannot even begin to express my gratitude to those who take the time to leave words of encouragement and/or creative criticism, or to even just simply say 'I like it', or 'Good chapter', or 'Not bad'. You all are what keeps me writing. **

**I could go on forever about this, but you didn't come here to listen to me gush and rant about reviews. No, you all came here for a story, and like the good Skald that I am, I shall oblige. **

**So, without further ado, On with the story!**

**METEMPSYCHOSIS**

**by**

**I Am Atrocity**

**Chapter V: Of Lies and Remorse**

**'We're all in this together, or so I was told. All for one, one for none. When it's time, you know this could never be justified, but still you take the hatred home. Or is this what you were searching for? The wounded and its filtered truth. Don't ignore a life that's real. How come you feel so alone? Is it the rage inside, wipes it all away? The rage inside...'**

**- Filtered Truth, by In Flames.**

Dumbledore led them through the corridors of Hogwarts on the way to his office in the Headmaster's Tower, the entrance of which was located on the seventh floor of the castle. This was a rather lengthy journey within the school as they had just departed from the Hospital Wing, which was located on the first floor of the castle.

Harry, for his part, was struggling slightly as they came to the staircase leading up to the fifth floor. He may have made a full recovery from the injuries he had sustain in the graveyard and the maze but he was still weakened and stiff from laying abed for a full day and a half. As such, he had a stitch in his side and he was a bit short of breath. If anyone, other than Hermione, who slowed to keep next to him, still holding onto his arm, noticed, they made no mention of it and continued as if nothing were wrong. Sirius, still in dog form – for obvious reasons – would turn about and trot back to him whenever he fell too far behind, but Dumbledore did not break his swift stride, though he did look back to make sure that they were still following. It was because of this that Harry felt the need to push himself to keep up, lest he get left behind; there was little chance of this though as the Headmaster would stop at the end of each corridor to let them all catch up.

While they walked, Harry was thinking furiously. He knew that he needed to figure out what he was going to tell them all. For some reason, that he was still figuring out, he did not feel like he should tell Dumbledore about Voldemort. Because of this feeling that he had, he wasn't sure if he should go with the truth, or lie. Did he tell them that Voldemort was back and had killed Cedric, or did he come up with some fabricated story about the older boy's death. To do so seemed like a disservice to Cedric, but he could also see the merits in it.

If he omitted the graveyard from his account, he would avoid a great many problems that had sprung up in his previous life. He remembered that once he told Dumbledore, the Headmaster had told Fudge, who refused to believe him and thought that he had gone completely mad, which evolved, somehow, into him thinking that Dumbledore was trying to take his position as Minister for Magic, thus resulting in a smear campaign against both Dumbledore and himself calling them both liars, Harry an attention seeker and calling the Headmaster a 'nutter'. He wanted to avoid that this time around, if at all possible.

He supposed he could tell Dumbledore and then ask him to keep it quiet so as not to cause panic, or outrage, as the case may be. But, thinking on it, he didn't believe for a moment that that would work. Dumbledore, for all of his power, wisdom and kindness, was not prone to keeping council with anyone but himself and rarely followed others' orders or suggestions if he did not believe them to be the right course of action. Meaning that even if Harry were to tell him and request that it be kept between just them, he would still end up telling Fudge and others because he felt that the Ministry and the public both needed to be inform of the danger out there. While Harry could agree that people should know that they were all in danger now that the Dark Lord had returned, he did not see it going well. It certainly hadn't the last time he tried.

In the end, that was what it all came down to. What would the people believe? What did people _want _to believe? Most were content to stick their heads in the sand and ignore the warnings. And they would do it in the face of this as well. By the time they came around and accepted the truth, it would be too little, too late.

By the time they had mounted the stairs that led up to the seventh floor, Harry had made up his mind. He was not going to tell Dumbledore about what happened in the graveyard.

Then, a horrifying thought jumped to the forefront of his mind with its arms held wide in a universal sign of 'Wait a minute!'. What if Dumbledore used Legilimency to peer into his mind and find the answers? How would he keep him from seeing the truth and confronting him about it?

Harry was so preoccupied with this thought that he failed to see that he was at the top of the stairs and he continued as though there were more to go. For a single heart-stopping moment he felt his foot fall through the empty air and he started in sick surprise as he pitched forward, his body attempting to correct the error and overcompensating. Had it not been for Hermione pulling him back, he was certain that he would have fallen on his face right there in the corridor. As it was though, she did pull him, having still been right at his side holding him arm.

She looked at him in open concern as he straightened himself and shook his head. "Are you alright, Harry. Are you feeling dizzy? Do you need to take a break?"

Harry shook his head again, giving her a small smile, hoping to reassure her. "No, I'm fine. Just wasn't watching where I was walking." By the look on her face, he had done a good job of easing her mind. She opened her mouth to speak, looking as though she wanted to refute his claim, but thought better of it and they continued on in silence.

Harry was actually quite relieved that she did not press the issue. He had no idea what she would have called him out on his obvious lie. Hermione had always been able to tell when he was lying. It was something that he both loved and hated about her. On one hand, it was flattering and somewhat comforting that she could read him so well, that she had taken the time to get to know him, his mind, his heart, his habits and his tells enough that he could no longer deceive her the way he could Ron or someone else. He only hoped that she would refrain from pointing out his falsities when they were in the Headmaster's Office. He prayed that she would just go along with it.

He had no illusions that Hermione was going to try and drag the real answers out of him at some point, but he hoped that it would be somewhere private and away from prying ears, or nosy mind-readers.

Finally they came to a halt in front of the large stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's Tower. Dumbledore gave the password – acid pops – and the gargoyle slid aside with the heavy scraping sound of stone moving against stone that set one's teeth on edge and caused the jaw to clench uncomfortably.

When the path was clear, they started up the winding staircase that led up the tower to the office.

They filed in, Dumbledore in front, followed by Harry and Hermione, with Sirius bringing up the rear.

As soon as he had cleared the threshold, he transformed from his animagus form and into that of a tall, scraggly, long-haired man in his thirties, though he looked far older, courtesy of Azkaban prison, the one and only vacation spot that would leave you looking worse than when you arrived.

He closed the door behind him with an audible click and then strode forward, engulfing Harry in a rib-crushing hug. Harry returned it without hesitation. Hermione released him for the first time since he had left his bed so that the two could embrace.

After a moment, the two released each other and stepped back, taking in each other's appearance fully.

Harry, of course, was wearing the same thing he had been wearing when he woke up that day. A dark shirt and dark plaid sleeping trousers.

Sirius was dressed a bit more raggedly. He was wearing torn and faded trousers, held up by a rough-looking leather belt, dirt-crusted boots and a dirty black button down shirt, several buttons missing so that it hung open over his chest, revealing an intricate tattoo of some unknown symbols that Harry did not recognize on his chest. His Azkaban prisoner number tattoo was also visible on the side of his neck, near the shoulder – gx390 it read. Prisoner number GX390. Over all of this he wore a long, tattered black duster that ended around his knees and probably had acted a weak barrier against the elements while he had been on the run from the Ministry, sleeping in caves and abandoned buildings. He was thin, worryingly so, and his face was gaunt and covered in an unkempt beard. His eyes, though sunken with dark circles around them, were alive with life and dancing with joy at the sight of his godson standing in front of him, smiling. He smiled back, a small, closed-lipped smile, but a smile nonetheless.

Hermione looked on, smiling to herself as she watched the two men. Even if Harry had missed out on the chance to have a better life, living with his last _true_ family, she was just happy that he still had a father figure to look up to and who supported him.

Dumbledore waited patiently for them all to finish their reunion, sitting behind his desk, elbows resting on the surface and his hands folded in front of him as he gazed fondly at the three gathered before him.

After exchanging a few words, Harry and Hermione sat down in chairs opposite the Headmaster's while Sirius stood behind Harry, his hands on his shoulders. Dumbledore offered him a chair as well, but the Most Wanted Man in Great Britain politely refused.

"Now, Harry, why don't you tell us what happened after you entered the maze," Albus said.

Harry frowned and looked down, trying to figure out what he should say; where he should start. After he took a moment to collect his thoughts, he sighed and cleared his throat. "I don't really know where to start..." he trailed off.

"I often find that tales tend to flow easier when told from the beginning," Dumbledore said, his voice and expression kind, softening what would have been a rather sarcastic and condescending sentence from anyone else.

Even so, Harry swallowed uncertainly. "Right..." He sat up a bit straighter. "Well, I don't really remember much of what happened in the maze. Most of it's a blur." He wasn't lying there. He really didn't have very clear memories of the events that led up to him and Cedric meeting up inside the maze. Only a few events stood out. "I remember hearing Fleur scream and finding her unconscious. I sent up red sparks so she would be found and taken care of. Then I remember running into Krum at one point, then again later when he was dueling with Cedric. He appeared to be under some kind of bewitchment, but I don't really know what was wrong with him." That was mostly true. "After Cedric fought him off, we sent up sparks for him to and continued on. Then we ran into the Acromantula." It was as he said these words that Harry came up with a cover story. A lie to explain how the Hufflepuff champion had met his end. "I didn't see it happen, everything was happening so fast. I don't think he was bitten, but somehow, the spider was able to kill him. We were right there in the center of the maze, the Cup just feet away when it happened. We were able to stun the spider together, but then, he just went down." Harry's voice became choked as he uttered the last four words, images of Cedric's body falling under the green light of the Killing Curse flashing through his mind. He struggled to continue. "He fell and I...I didn't know what to do. I-I...I couldn't save him..." He could feel the sting of tears in his eyes and his vision became blurry as they filled up with liquid. He lowered his head in despair as the death of his friend, for that had been what Harry considered him to be and he was sure that Cedric felt the same in return, played over and over in his mind's eye. "I couldn't save him," he said again as a sob wracked his body.

Sirius gripped his shoulders tighter, a silent show of support and comfort and Hermione leaned over and took his hand in one of her own, the other going behind him, where it began to rub small, soothing circles on his back.

Throughout Harry's tale, Dumbledore had sat silently, not reacting to anything that was said in any visible fashion, save for a single flinch when Harry mentioned the Acromantula. But now, he spoke in the form of a question. "What happened next?" The way he said it was like he was expecting a certain response. Like he already suspected what had happened.

Harry couldn't help but be alarmed. Had Dumbledore already read the truth in his mind? It was entirely possible, though for some reason he doubted it. He had not made eye contact with Dumbledore at any time during his tale, but that hardly mattered in this case as Dumbledore was quite proficient in the art of what a muggle might call 'mind reading'. He did not need eye contact to see right through you and into the deepest depth of your thoughts. However, Harry also knew that Dumbledore had a sort of code, a respect, which prevented him from going too deep and compromising one's privacy or personal matters. He usually, from what Harry knew, just skimmed the surface thoughts, typically to detect a lie, if he suspected one.

Harry didn't like it either way.

"Then, I drug Cedric's body over to the Cup with me, and I took it. You know the rest," he said. As he said it, he watched Dumbledore's face for any sort of reaction that might let him know if his mind had been read.

But, like he was a skilled Legilimens, Dumbledore was also a skilled poker player – or at least he would be if he played – and his face remained a blank page. A long moment passed before anyone else spoke.

As it turned out, Dumbledore was the one to break the tense silence that had fallen over them all. "After you were taken to the Hospital Wing, Harry, we apprehended a Death Eater, who had been keeping Alastor Moody captive and assuming his identity via Polyjuice Potion all year."

Harry felt his chest clench up at this bit of news. They had found out about Barty Crouch? He had almost forgotten all about him. Had Barty talked? Was that why Dumbledore seemed suspicious? Harry played ignorant though. "A D-Death Eater?" he stammered out.

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "Yes. His name was Barty Crouch Jr. You remember when you saw him in my Pensieve, no doubt." Harry nodded. He did remember. He also remembered what had happened the last time around when the man had been found out. He was glad that he didn't have to endure that again this time. 'He said some rather curious things when we confronted him."

Harry tilted his head. "Like what?"

Dumbledore tilted his head a bit as well, watching Harry carefully. "He said that we were too late." He frowned, his brow furrowing. "What did he mean by that, I wonder?"

Harry shrugged, not meeting the elder wizard's gaze. He reached up with his hand, the one that wasn't occupied with Hermione's, and rubbed his nose. "I couldn't tell you, sir. It doesn't make any sense to me." This was a complete, bare-faced lie. He knew all too well what Barty meant.

Dumbledore continued as though Harry had not said a word. "It kept me up, late into the night and into the early hours of the morning. I've replayed it over and over, but I am still no closer to an answer. It's maddening."

Harry was about to respond, but he suddenly latched on to something that he had almost missed. Dumbledore had that his name _was_ Barty Crouch Jr. Did that mean that he had been caught and kissed like last time? Had he escaped? Or was he simply looking to far into it? "Can't the Aurors interrogate him, sir?" he asked with feigned innocence.

Dumbledore's expression fell. His eyes became glazed and distant, as though he were looking at something in the middle distance. "No, we cannot," he murmured softly. "He's dead."

"Dead?" It was Hermione who had asked it, her tone shocked.

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, Ms. Granger. He took his own life when he realized that we could not escape."

Hermione's expression was suitably horrified. "That...that's awful!"

Dumbledore bobbed his head in agreement. "I could not agree more, Ms. Granger. I think he feared going back to Azkaban. He said that he would die before going back."

"Can't say I blame him," Sirius said, his eyes taking on the haunted look that usually accompanied his memories of his years in the wizard prison.

Harry did not hear any of this conversation. His were preoccupied with the news that Barty Crouch Jr. was dead. He wasn't sure what else he expected, but he had perhaps thought that with the changes he had made that the man may have escaped. But, he supposed this was yet another example of the Universe correcting itself to accommodate his difference in actions. In a way, he was relieved that he had one less problem to deal with. He felt bad thinking that, being glad that someone was dead. But, his relief outweighed his guilt.

Sirius' next words brought him immediately back to the conversation.

"If I'm honest, if it came down to dying and going back to Azkaban, I'd probably choose death too," he said, his voice quiet, like he was talking to himself, but everyone heard him like he had shouted.

Harry's head snapped up, shock on his face. He turned to look at his godfather, seeing the faraway, haunted look in his eyes. It was in that moment that Harry made another decision. He decided that he didn't care what the Overseer had said, or what the Universe wanted, there was no way he was going to let Sirius die this time around. He didn't know how he would pull it off, but he was determined and his mind was set.

Hermione seemed to sense Harry's discomfort, perhaps the tightening grip of his hand in hers was a dead give away, and took it upon herself to change the subject. "Excuse me, Professor, but what does this Death Eater have to do with Harry? Was he going to try to kill Harry?"

Dumbledore, and everyone else, turned their heads toward her, Harry releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "I am afraid that I don't know, Ms. Granger. But, I must assume the worst."

"The worst?" Sirius asked. "What could be worse than one of those bastards trying to kill Harry?"

"I think, perhaps, he was here to kill Harry. Or possibly abduct him for some unknown purpose." The elderly wizard shook his head to demonstrate his loss for reasons. "Neither of which is worse than the other in its implications."

Hermione shook her head. "If he had wanted Harry dead, he could have killed him at any time during the year," she reasoned. "Abduction would have been easier during the summer, but I suppose it's a possibility..." She looked doubtful though, biting her bottom lip in thought. Then her head shot up. "Wait a minute, _how_, exactly, did a Death Eater manage to even get into the school without anyone noticing?" Dumbledore opened his mouth to respond, but Hermione cut him off and continued. "Not only did he get in without so much as a single person noticing, but he lived in the castle for _over nine months_ without anyone catching on!"

Sirius nodded along with her, looking to Dumbledore to see how he would answer her inquiry. Harry nodded along uncomprehendingly as well, putting on a show, like he had no idea that there had been a Death Eater in their midst all year – which, in this timeline, was true; his counterpart, or whatever, before he was dropped unceremoniously back in and took over, had no idea at all about the imposter Moody.

Dumbledore reached up and rubbed his eyes with one hand, then pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off a headache. "I must confess that I do not know." Harry was surprised. Dumbledore had twice, in the last few minutes, confessed to not knowing something. It certainly didn't fit well with the image that Harry had had of him all the years he had known the man. Usually, or so it seemed, Dumbledore was the man with all of the answers. He was hailed almost unanimously as the greatest wizard in the world, but it was in that moment, seeing him sitting there, shoulders sagged and his face weary, that Harry realized something very important that most people tended to either overlook or not even consider at all: Dumbledore was human too. He made mistakes, just like the rest of them. His mistakes just tended to be bigger than others'.

"I know that I should have seen it," Dumbledore continued. "I should have noticed _something_ was wrong. I've know Alastor for many years, though it has been a while since I last saw him before the beginning of this school year. He was being kept in a trunk in his office, you know, under the Imperius Curse. Barty had unhindered access to him. He had the time, patience and skill to learn everything about him, every detail and character trait. Enough to fool even me."

They were all quiet, thoughtful, for a few minutes. No one knew what to say next. It wasn't everyday that they were put in the position of seeing Dumbledore so lost for answers.

They were saved from their indecision as a knock sounded from the door. Swift as a blink, Sirius was back in dog form and sitting at Harry's feet.

"Enter," Dumbledore called out.

The door swung open slowly and Cornelius Fudge poked his head in. "Aha! There you are," he said, looking at Harry as he came fully into the room, a large bag carried in his hand. With every step, Harry could the clink, clink, clink of coins. "I went to the Hospital Wing to give young Harry here his winnings, but they said that he was here with you. I hope I'm not interrupting anything." He smiled.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Not at all, Minister. We were just finishing up here." He stood up and came around the desk. Harry and Hermione stood as well. "Harry and Ms. Granger were about to head back to their Common Room."

"Ah, well. I caught you just in time, then." He held the bag out to Harry. "There you are. One-Thousand galleons. Your prize for winning the TriWizard tournament, as promised."

Harry took the bag stiffly, looking uncomfortable. "Erm...thank you, sir." He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.

Fudge nodded and shook his hand. "Well, I must be going. A pleasure, as always, Mr. Potter. Goodbye."

"Minister," Dumbledore called out, stopping the other man in his tracks. "Harry has just given his statement regarding the death of young Mr. Diggory. Would you like me to provide a copy of it for the official report?"

Fudge looked at Harry, who didn't meet his eyes, then back to Dumbledore. "Yes, yes. That would be wonderful, Dumbledore."

"I'll have it sent to your office as soon as possible then."

"Very good." Fudge's face grew somber. "What was the cause of death, if I may ask?"

"A tragic accident," Dumbledore said. "He fell prey to the dangers of the maze, I'm afraid. An acromantula, as a matter of fact."

Fudge frowned. "Your nurse reported no bites. In fact, there were no fatal physical injuries at all. She said that most likely his heart gave out. Has Mr. Potter provided a memory of this event. Perhaps then we could see what really happened."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Not at present, Minister. Though, I'm sure, that if it is necessary, Harry would be more than willing to do so."

Fudge was quiet for a moment, and Harry began to worry. If they asked for a memory, could he give one? He would have to provide a fake memory, but he wasn't sure that he could create a convincing memory without time to prepare it.

Fudge finally sighed. "No, I don't see any reason to bother the poor boy further. This isn't the first time that the Tournament has claimed the life of a participant. Mr. Potter's account of the events will do. Good day."

With that, he turned and left the office, and Harry felt a surge of relief.

All was quiet after the door clicked closed.

Harry looked down at the bag of gold, weighed it experimentally while he thought about what to do with it. He supposed he could give it to Fred and George, like he did last time. He did not see any harm in it. The Twins and their shop had been a bright spot in the darkness of the war last time. He thought about the Overseer calling the Weasleys a 'greedy lot' but did not fully understand what he had meant. Of course, he knew that Ron was always more than a little jealous of his wealth and fame, it had never been more evident than during this very year, if he remembered correctly. But, there had also been those that never seemed bothered by it and never made mention of it. Bill, Charlie, Arthur, and Fred and George especially; he remembered them simply wanting to have fun and prank everyone. Ginny had always had a case of Hero Worship when it came to him, he could see that easily enough, one of the reasons that he had not gotten back with her after Dumbledore's funeral in his previous life; it made him uncomfortable. He had only fond memories of Molly Weasley. She had always treated him like one of her own sons. Hell, she and Bill had come to the Third Task to support him since he didn't have any family of his own. And Percy, well, he didn't have much interaction with Percy, though he had seemed pretty obsessed with position and power. All things considered, the only one he had had real problems with was Ron and his jealousy...though he had always tried to look past that. But could he continue to do so?

He frowned. He would have to think upon this further. Later. When he was alone and could think it through freely.

Harry started for the door, Hermione trailing behind. As he had his hand on the handle, he turned back to Dumbledore. "Sir? Where are Mr. and Mrs. Diggory?"

Dumbledore's expression grew saddened. "Why do you ask?"

Harry grimaced. "It's just...well, I was hoping I could talk to them. Offer my sympathies. And...maybe...tell them how Cedric died."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "They took Cedric home this morning. He will be laid to rest there, with the rest of his family."

Harry nodded. "Right."

Sirius, who was back in human form, embraced Harry tightly and gave Hermione a warm smile. The two teenagers then left the room, closing the door behind them with an audible click.

The walk back to the Common Room was quiet.

Harry was thinking of Cedric's death.

The bag of gold that should have been his weighed a ton in Harry's hand. He felt the way he did about it this time as he had before. This gold, the fame, the glory. All of that should have been Cedric's, but he had been stripped of his life far too early.

It didn't seem fair to Harry. That someone so kind and smart and all around good as Cedric should be taken in such a manner. One of many lives unjustly snuffed out before they had had a chance to really live.

He silently cursed the Universe for being so cruel. For a moment, he thought about finding a quick way to get himself killed, just to get his Overseer hacked off, but he quickly dismissed the idea as it would ultimately be counterproductive to his final objective. So, with a glance toward the heavens and gritting of teeth, he lowered his head and trudged on.

They arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady in due time and Hermione spoke the password, granting them entrance. The portrait swung open and they stepped through into the common room.

There were a few students milling about. A couple of first years sat at a table playing Gobstones, a small group of sixth years were studying in a corner, and a lone fourth year, Neville Longottom, was sitting in front of the fire, reading silently to himself from a Herbology text. Harry stood there for a moment, taking it all in. It seemed like forever since he had last set foot in this room, though in reality it was only a couple of months. Still, it felt good to be back there. To him, it felt almost like coming home. Or as close to it as he could possibly get.

He was about to go and sit down in his favorite chair by the fire, but then he spotted Ron Weasley coming down the stairs from the boy's dormitories.

Harry froze upon seeing him, his mind going back to what he had been thinking about the same redhead who was now making his way toward them, a smile alight on his freckled face.

"Blimey, Harry. What are you doing in here?" he asked without preamble.

Harry frowned. "What are you talking about? Where else would I be?"

"Hospital Wing," he answered, as though it should be obvious. "We were all just on our way down to see you."

"We?"

"Yeah. Practically the whole family's here, save dad and Percy. They're at work. And Charlie, because he couldn't get time off from work either." He shrugged.

"Oh," Harry pressed his lips into a thin line.

Ron nodded. "Come on. We can still catch 'em if we hurry." He looked at his watch. "Almost dinner time, anyway."

And, Harry and Hermione turned back around and exited back through the portrait hole, Ron leading the way.

**XXXX**

Back in Dumbledore's office, Sirius was once again in human form, sitting slumped in Harry's vacated chair. One hand was held up and resting over his eyes, his expression weary.

Albus, for his part, looked every bit of his one-hundred and thirteen years. His forehead was creased with worry lines and his eyes, which normally sported a merry twinkle, were now dull and hooded as he thought about the strange position he now found himself in.

It was strange that a Death Eater would enter Hogwarts with no obvious objective. But, stranger still was what Dumbledore had noticed and come into contact with during his conversation with young Harry just a few minutes past.

When he had attempted to read Barty Crouch Jr.'s mind, he had been easily repelled. Barty had been a powerful wizard in his own right. It did not surprise Dumbledore that he would be skilled in Occlumency as well. What was surprising was that, somehow, Harry had developed the same skill. He had used a gentle mind probe to skim over the surface thoughts of Harry's mind, which had gone uncontested, and he gleaned very little from it. So, he decided to dig a bit deeper. Upon reaching for Harry's memories about what happened when Cedric died, he had gotten only the barest glimpse of a graveyard and a gathering of hooded figures before he was curtly ejected from Harry's mind altogether. He had had no warning, save for a soft whispering of many voices together, the words could not be made out, and this caused him to visibly flinch. Luckily, it didn't seem that Harry had noticed, though a moment later, before he finished his story, he had gazed at him suspiciously.

While Harry's mental defenses were something he had not expected, he wasn't too worried about it. If the boy could protect his mind, then that was most definitely a good thing. It was the short glimpses he had gotten of a graveyard that worried him.

He stood up and walked over to the large glass cabinet where there were housed countless odd and unusual objects. Some spun, others ticked, one puffed smoke and yet another had a small blinking glow above it. Only Dumbledore himself knew what any of them did, or what there purpose was. He ignored all of these and went straight to the large, stone, rune-carved bowl in the center on its pedestal.

He hovered over the Pensieve and drew his wand. He touched the tip to his temple and concentrated on what he had seen in Harry's mind. Slowly, he pulled the memory out and let it drop down into the bowl. The image swirled within, like a pool of silvery liquid.

Dumbledore took a steadying breath and prepared to plunge in, but he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He turned to find Sirius standing there. "What are you doing?"

Dumbledore looked reluctant to answer. "I am about to review something I saw in Harry's mind."

Sirius' expression turned dark. "YOU READ HIS MIND?!"

Dumbledore sighed. "Only for a moment, Sirius. I was only able to see a bit before I was repelled." He should have expected such a reaction from Sirius.

"It doesn't matter! You shouldn't have tried to read it anyway! People's thoughts are meant to be private, Dumbledore!"

Albus raised his hand in a placating gesture. "Calm yourself, Sirius. I understand your ire, but we have other things to worry about at the moment. As I said, he was able to repel me quite quickly, but I did catch a glimpse of...something...I fear we may not like what we will find within that memory." He nodded toward the swirling silver pool within the Pensieve.

Sirius glared at him, but nodded and readied to enter the memory with the Headmaster. "Fine. We'll do this your way, this time. But, this isn't over, Dumbledore."

Dumbledore nodded in acceptance. "I never had a doubt as to that."

With that, the two men disappeared into the memory.

It was a few moments before they reemerged. When they did, Sirius had regained his haunted expression and Albus looked even more troubled than he had before he entered.

What Dumbledore had thought was a brief glimpse was actually a series of short views into a terrible set of events. While he didn't see much, he had seen enough. A flash of green, Cedric's corpse, a cauldron, Wormtail, hooded figures, and a quick view of a towering, horrible figure. It was one of those blink-and-you'll-miss-it moments, but fortunately for him, Dumbledore had not blinked. Though, a part of him wished that he had.

Sirius was now cursing under his breath. Albus caught a few words. "...filthy rat...how could...damn it...I'll kill...bastard..." Finally, the younger man dropped back into his vacated chair, silent.

Dumbledore returned to his desk. "It is as I feared," he spoke to himself. "Sirius," Black lifted his head and looked up at the Headmaster, his eyes dark, "I think it is time to call on our old friends once more."

Sirius frowned. "You mean...?"

Albus nodded. "Yes. Severus' mark has been growing clearer every day. That, coupled with Barty's presence here, paints a very grim picture. This bit of memory has all but confirmed it."

"No," Sirius said breathlessly.

Dumbledore sighed. "I'm afraid so. The Order must be reconvened. The dark times are coming again. We must be ready."

Sirius stood staggeringly and made his way to the door. He paused with his hand on the handle. He turned back to face Dumbledore. "I meant what I said, Albus. Stay out of Harry's head." His voice held an edge that said that he would not be challenged on this.

Albus closed his eyes and sighed, then opened them again. "You have my word."

Sirius still did not look convinced, but seemed to accept it, for now. He opened the door and transformed back into his dog form, taking off down the staircase and out of sight.

Dumbledore remained sitting in silence for a long moment. He would refrain from attempting to delve deeper into Harry's mind, for now, out of respect for Sirius and Harry, both, but he feared that it was a promise that he may not be able to keep forever.

He pushed that from his mind. He had something much bigger to worry about now. It seemed that Voldemort had returned, just as he had always feared that he would. He only hoped that they would all be ready when he chose to reveal himself to the world.

**XXXX**

**A/N: Another chapter down. Thank you all for reading.**

**I hope I've managed to keep everyone in character, but I apologize if I was not wholly successful. I also hope that I was able to keep Dumbledore on that line between being liked and disliked. As I said previously, I do not hate him, though I understand why some people do, and I have nothing against using him as a villain, as I have also done before.**

**This chapter was a bit longer, and mostly dialogue and inner thoughts (there I go again with that pesky character development) but there will be more action soon enough, bear with me.**

**I pray that no one is too upset that I had Dumbledore find out about Voldemort even though Harry didn't tell him. Now, what will Dumbledore do with that information? That is the question...**

**As always, leave a review, even if it is only one word, but refrain from setting fires, Devil's Night isn't until the end of the month and Guy Fawkes Night isn't until November...remember, remember...**

**Anyway, Until next time, brothers and sisters.**

**- Atrocity.**

**P.S.: Expanding on the note at the beginning of the chapter. If you wish to know more about me and how I see the world.**

**I feel that it must be said that I'm not taking time off from the writing for myself, but for my family. I'm not sad...not really. I'm happy, and relieved, more than anything. **

**Most of you know that I am a practicing pagan (Odinist/Asatru) and for me death is not an end so much as it is a new beginning. While most of my family are Christians, they do not object when I burn offerings to the gods or when I pour out a glass of wine or beer in libation. This morning, a crow appeared on the roof of the building that my deceased relative was in, and the raven/crow is the sacred animal of Odin. There were rainclouds gathered, which dispersed after the death occurred and a light rain. I take all of these as signs, omens that my offerings were accepted and the gods answered my calls. I am more secure in my faith than I have ever been because of this. **

**This is the second family member to die since I found my calling in the Old Ways, and I have not been sad at either occasion, at least not for the departed. My main concern are my surviving family members. It is their pain that hurts me, it is their tears that make my heart heavy. It is for them that I must stay strong and steadfast. I have to be the pillar that holds them up. Their well-being comes before my own. So, this hiatus is so that I can be there for them during this time of mourning. **

**I hope that you can all understand and accept that.**


	6. Moon's Wisdom

**First off, I want to thank you all for being patient. I know that I was gone for a little while, but I'm back now. Most of you understood my reasons, though I suspect that a few of you were put off by it. With a funeral, work, family health scares and not enough sleep, I have had very little time to write. I hope you can forgive me.**

**As one reviewer said, I don't have the best track record when it comes to hiatuses. But I usually only have that problem when review and reader counts start to go downhill. Maybe I have some kind of 'sequel curse' or something, I don't know. Oh well, I can only hope for the best, as I really enjoy writing this story.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**A/N: Welcome one and all to the next chapter of Metempsychosis. Thank you to all who reviewed. This chapter was originally somewhere around 11,000+ words. I felt that that was a bit long for the pacing of this story so I decided to split it into two chapters: The Lost Diadem, parts I and II. I hope you all enjoy. Let me know in the reviews. Now, without further ado, allons-y!**

**METEMPSYCHOSIS**

**by**

**I Am Atrocity**

**Chapter VI: The Lost Diadem: Moon's Wisdom**

**'****If these walls could talk, they would tell a horror story. Never-ending winter, violence and infidelity. Shadows fall through broken panes, careless words that are fill with hate. Just enough to keep it together, never enough to make it work. All the tongues here are forked. We are a hailstorm of broken glass, ****follow the path of least expectancy. A huge stinking pike of sick. Pile it higher and higher! Light the match, start the fire! Level this place until nothing's left, and take us with it.'**

**- Remorse is for the Dead, by Lamb of God.**

The reunion with the Weasleys was an unusually tense affair. While Harry had determined that most of them were harmless in the long run, two of them had him constantly watching for signs of...something.

Ron, his first friend, not counting Hagrid, had ogled the bag of gold like it was a freshly roasted lamb dangling right in front of him when Harry had passed it as discretely as possible to Fred and George behind Molly's back, whispering to them in no uncertain terms that he would not take it back, no matter what they said. He had caught his eye and the redhead had turned away quickly, his cheeks darkening in color at having been caught all but drooling of a bag of gold.

Ginny worried him in the almost-unnoticeable glances that she would send his way every few seconds when she though no one was looking. He had thought before that she had grown out of her Harry Potter hero worship phase – something that he had always hated – by this point in time, but perhaps he was wrong. Or perhaps it was because he had paid her hardly any mind until sixth year when he had, rather abruptly, developed an attraction to her.

Looking at her now, he felt absolutely nothing. No stirring in his gut, no ache in his chest, no 'chest monster' making a fuss. This made him wonder where that sudden attraction and unnatural jealousy had come from in the first place. He remembered the Overseer mentioning something about a Love Potion during their first meeting, though he couldn't remember what exactly he had said.

He turned his head away to survey the others that were gathered as well and caught Molly looking between himself and her only daughter with a considering expression on her face. Harry frowned and shook his head slowly before turning to where yet another argument between Hermione and Ron was taking place.

He didn't pay attention to what they were saying, so used by now to their fighting and bickering that it was all just background noise at this point.

He lost himself in thought.

There were still five Horcruxes to go before Voldemort could be killed, and he only had a few clues to go off of. He and Dumbledore had concluded that Slytherin's locket, Hufflepuff's Cup, Nagini and some other object belonging to either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw were the likely remaining Horcruxes. Nagini was dead now. Dead and destroyed. Dumbledore would find the Gaunt Ring in the summer after fifth year and destroy it, thought not without costs. Slytherin's Locket, the one they had found in the cave had been a fake, a decoy. Where was the real one? Who was the mysterious R.A.B., who had taken the real Locket? Where was Hufflepuff's Cup? Was it here in Hogwarts? Hidden with one of the Death Eaters, as the Diary had been with Lucius? What object of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's had been made into a Horcrux? It couldn't have been the sword. He had handled the sword before and there was nothing off about it. Dumbledore had used the sword to destroy the Ring, right? So, that left something of Ravenclaw's. But what? What special item was there that belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw? Was it here in Hogwarts as well? Did anyone here know about it? Did anyone know about the Cup, for that matter. He would have to ask around without drawing too much suspicion upon himself. He would have to be careful, working on this mission under Dumbledore's nose. So, who could he ask?

His eyes scanned around the Great Hall, seeking out the familiar faces, one of which he had not met yet in this timeline. Sitting at the far end of the Ravenclaw table was a petite little blonde witch, who was smiling serenely into the middle distance without a care in the world.

Harry smiled to himself. Maybe Luna Lovegood would know something. She always seemed to have a way of knowing, and seeing, things that others didn't. On top of that, and more importantly, she was a member of Ravenclaw House. But, the problem remained that he did not know her yet. He didn't want to just approach her out of nowhere and start asking questions, as that would be weird, rude and somewhat awkward for both of them.

Speaking of awkward things, he had just been caught staring.

Harry ducked his head and averted his eyes from the willowy blonde who had turned her head and locked her pale blue eyes on his.

He waited a moment, then glanced back to see if she was still looking at him. She was. Her head was tilted slightly in a considering manner, her lips still curved into a smile as she watched him curiously.

Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, Harry stood. "I'm gonna head back to the common room," he told Hermione as he stepped over the bench.

Hermione stood as though to follow but he put a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back down onto her seat.

She frowned. "You alright?"

Harry nodded, looking around at all the people in the Great Hall, the cacophony of noise all clashing together in an unintelligible static of background noise. "Yeah. Just want some quiet. Some time alone. To think, you know."

Hermione frowned deeper, her brow furrowing and her eyes narrowing.

It wasn't really a lie. He did want to get somewhere quiet, away from everyone else so that he could think more on his dilemma. Hermione seemed to sense that he was being truthful. "Alright. I'll see you later, then."

Harry nodded and started walking out of the Great Hall.

Instead of turning to the left to go up the stairs to the next landing when he reached the Entrance Hall, he turned right and exited through the large, heavy double doors that led out into the courtyard.

He walked out onto the covered bridge, leaning against the railing, gazing out into the gaping chasm that separated a section of the castle from the grounds beyond.

He liked it here. It was quiet. Peaceful.

Most days, a mist hung low against the earth below, shrouding the chasm in a veil of dense, swirling fog. It was this veil that gave the illusion of limitless depth to the great crevice, as though it stretched on and on, down, down, with no end in sight. If one were to jump, there was the thought that they could fall forever. Jumping, though, was not high on Harry's list of thoughts at the moment though.

Contrary to what some would think, given his track record of getting himself into dangerous and deadly situations, he did not have a death wish and he was far from suicidal.

Though, every time he looked down from the bridge, there was, like he suspected there was for many many others, a curious wonder of what it would be like, to fall with nothing to catch you. To feel weightless, as though you were floating, or flying. And yet, even as these thoughts lingered in his thoughts, he would find his hands gripping the rails tighter, his feet planted firmly to the planks beneath them, his body tensed and secured against such actions; on some occasions he would even find himself stepping back from the edge.

While, he suspected that he was not the only person to ever experience this phenomenon, he sometimes doubted and feared it was so.

And yet, no matter how strong the urge, no matter how powerful the wonder, his will to live was stronger, was more powerful, and it, he knew, was what made him brace, what made him step away; the will to live was far too strong for him to ever do something as foolish as act upon those strange thoughts that only arose when he was standing in a high-up place, far above the rest of the world. He smiled as he now gazed down into those misty depths, into the darkness below.

"It's really not that deep, you know?"

Harry turned his head to the side, looking back the way he had come. A slight figure was making its way down the bridge toward him, a long, curtain of blonde hair swaying to and fro with each bouncing step.

"You could jump. The fall would do you no harm."

Harry was confused, and so said nothing in return.

"But, of course, I'm sure you knew that. After all, everyone knows that it's not the _fall_ that kills you."

Luna stopped next to him and peered down over the rail, craning her neck out, but keeping her feet firmly planted.

Harry followed suit.

"For some reason, I don't think it would really be the end. You'd end up back here again." She smiled serenely up at him. Her tone was casual, as if they were simply discussing the weather. "The funny thing is, I have no idea why that is."

Harry shrugged and leaned forward, placing his elbows on the rails. "Instinct?"

Luna tilted her head, still looking downward. "Maybe. Somehow, I get the feeling that the answer isn't quite as simple as that." She finally turned toward him. "You have a..._mist _about you, It clouds you, _cloaks_ you. How odd. You wanted to ask me something, Harry?"

"Yes, Luna, I did," Harry answered. He ignored the fact that she knew his name, just as she seemed to ignore that he already knew hers, despite that they had never been introduced in this timeline. He had simply learned to not question some things when it came to Luna Lovegood. "I wanted to ask you something very important." He glanced around, making sure that they were alone. "But, it has to stay between us. And I can't say too much, so I may not be able to answer some questions you may have. Okay?"

Luna nodded easily.

Harry felt relief. "Do you know of any objects owned by Ravenclaw? Like a piece of jewelry or a weapon or something?" Harry didn't know how to explain what he was looking for without giving too much away.

Luna thought for a moment. "Well, there's Ravenclaw's lost diadem."

Harry jolted. Yes, they were getting somewhere. "Brilliant! A lost diadem!...er, what's a diadem?"

Luna tilted her head, for seemingly no real reason at all. "It's like a crown, or a tiara. Ravenclaw's was said to have magical properties to increase the 'wisdom' of the wearer. Daddy's been trying to find a way to duplicate it. His Wrackspurt siphons are-"

"That's great, Luna." Harry felt bad about cutting her off – it was rather rude and mean – but he didn't want the conversation getting side-tracked. "Do you know where it is?"

She shook her head. "No. It's _lost_, silly."

Harry felt his cheeks grow warm as he averted his eyes in embarrassment of not having realized that sooner. "Oh, right. Sorry." He sighed. "So, no one knows where it is, or what it looks like then?"

Luna shook her head. "Oh, we know what it looks like. There's a carving of it in the Ravenclaw common room. Well, more accurately, there's a statue of Rowena Ravenclaw there, and on the sculpture she's _wearing_ the diadem."

Harry's head shot up. "Do you think I could see this statue?" he asked hopefully.

Luna studied him for a moment, then smiled and nodded. "Sure."

Without another word, she began skipping back toward the school. Harry watched her go curiously. At the end of the bridge, she seemed to sense that he was not following her, so she stopped and spun around. "Well, come on!"

"Right," Harry breathed.

He followed her as she skipped back into the castle, humming quietly to herself as she went.

Harry glanced into the Great Hall as they passed, seeing the Weasleys all still seated within, though he didn't see Hermione with them any longer. He wondered if maybe she had gone back to the common room. What would she think when she found that he wasn't there like he'd said he would be?

He dismissed this thought. He would worry about that later. For now, he had a Horcrux to find. Or at least a clue to it.

Luna led him up several flights of stairs until they came to the fifth floor. They proceeded through an archway that preceded the base of a great, spiraling staircase that led up into Ravenclaw Tower. They climbed at an expedited yet casual pace, neither in a hurry nor taking their time. It was only a few minutes before they arrived at a landing where the stairs ceased their ascent.

The door to the common room was plain and dull in most respects, made of simple polished wood with no visible markings to distinguish it from any of hundred of other doors found throughout the castle. However, it did had – or, rather, didn't have – one detail that made it unique. One characteristic that set it apart from the others of its ilk. It bore no knocker, for one, and for second, and this was the stranger of the two as a knocker wasn't all that common on most of the doors in the school, save for the doors to the Professors' chambers and offices, respectively, it had no handle or any other means by which to open it with. For that matter, there was no keyhole either.

Harry frowned at the plain, handleless door in front of him with a measure of concern. How were they supposed to enter?

Luna, however, was unperturbed. She merely stepped up to the door and waited. Harry stared at the bare, ancient wood waiting for something, anything, to happen.

It only took a short second, but from seemingly out of thin air a large bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle appeared at Luna's eye-level. Luna raised one pale hand and rapped solidly on the the door three times. Each knock of her knuckles on the wood echoed around the tower and down to the stairway before fading beyond their hearing.

The regal head of the eagle leaned forward, it's plain eyes locking with Luna's. "When is a door not a door?" it asked in a soft musical voice that seemed to almost be speaking inside one's head.

Luna cocked her head in thought, her eyes wandering over the door in front of her as though it held the answer. "Hmm, maybe...what do you think, Harry?" She turned to him. "'When is a door not a door?'"

Harry blinked, confused. "Erm, isn't there a password to get in?

Luna shook her head. "Not at all. You simply have to answer the question and you get to go in. Now that I think about it, it may not have been the smartest idea when it comes to security. If they're clever enough, anyone could just waltz right in without a problem."

Harry nodded. "No kidding. So, what happens if you guess wrong?"

"You have to wait for someone else to get it right, that way you learn," Luna said. "Though, I wouldn't recommend guessing."

Harry nodded. "Right. So, 'When is a door not a door?'. Hm, I don't know..." He tried to work through the riddle as logically as he could. A door was a barrier, separating one room from another. But a door is a door, so how could it not be a door? It defied logic. It was because of that that he knew that it was a trick question. If he got it wrong, he would have to hope Luna knew the answer, else they'll both have to wait until someone came along who did know and answered it. He looked at the eagle that acted as a gatekeeper of sorts.

That's when it struck him. A gate! A gate was, essentially, the same as a door. They were both barriers that separated one area from another, and a gate was a door and a door was a gate, in a manner of speaking.

He took a breath and spoke while Luna waited expectantly. "When it's a gate."

The knocker looked at him and spoke thus, "That is not the right answer."

Harry frowned. "What? Then what is?" The knocker was silent.

Luna patted him arm consolingly. "It's okay, Harry. I've got this one."

She turned to the knocker as it repeated its riddle. "When is a door not a door?"

"When it is ajar," Luna answered strongly.

The eagle looked at her. "That is the right answer." With that, the door swung open.

They stepped through the doorway. Harry was turning Luna's answer over in his head. It didn't make sense. How could a door be a jar? What did a jar have to do with a door? Absolutely nothing that he could see. A door is a jar, he thought. Then, it was as if a little light turned on in his head. The door is ajar! Not _a jar_. Ajar. If a door is ajar, it is partially open, and therefore no longer acting as a barrier and therefore no longer a door. It was still a door, but it was not a _door_.

He smiled. While he was satisfied with his reasoning, as flawed as it may or may not be, he felt a light headache coming on from having to use his brain in a manner he was unused to doing. That thought turned his smile into a frown. He was grossly unused to thinking critically or logically. It was a horrifying thought that he had let himself become stupid during his time at Hogwarts. Sure, he had gotten decent grades, excelling in practical application more so than theoretical study. He never went so far as to rely on Hermione to do his work like Ron often tried to do, but he had used her knowledge to ease the way a bit more often than he cared to admit. He would have to change that.

"Your answer wasn't wrong, Harry. It was a correct answer. It just wasn't the _right_ answer." Luna said as they crossed the common room.

"Right," Harry agreed, choosing not to ask what the difference between a right and correct answer was.

The Ravenclaw common room was a large, circular room. The ceiling was high and arched and the entire room felt more...open, than any other Harry had seen in the school. The walls were punctuated by tall, high windows that stretched from near-ground level to near the ceiling. At the base of each window was a cushioned bench were one could sit or lounge and read using the natural light during the day, or by the light of the fireplace, which seemed to light up the whole room easily, despite that it was the same size as the one found in the Gryffindor common room.

Directly ahead of them, facing the doorway, was an alcove. Inside were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stuffed to the maximum with tomes and texts of varying size and subject. It was not the books though that Harry had his gaze focused on, it was the three and a half meter tall marble sculpture of Rowena Ravenclaw that stood in the center of the alcove, her frozen, stern gaze staring down at the room not unkindly. While her eyes were intimidating, her lips were tilted into a sort of pondering smile. It was a perfect representation of terrible beauty. Lovely, but dangerous. At the base of the sculpture was a plaque that read 'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure'.

Harry raised his eyes up to the face, and then up to the top of the head. There, perched upon her brow was a carved crown-like jeweled adornment. It was really more of a circlet, or a tiara, but that was beside the point. What was not beside the point was that Harry knew immediately that he had seen it before. Yes, he had seen that piece before, last year, er..._sixth year_, when he had gone into the Room of Requirement to hide the Half-Blood Prince's potions book. He had taken it and set it atop a bust of some hideous old warlock so that he could find his way back to the book if need be. Admittedly, it had appeared worn and tarnished, but the design was clear to see, and there it was now, right in front of him, sitting upon the brow of Rowena Ravenclaw's statue. It was almost like a slap in the face to think that he had held it in his hands and not realized what it was. How had he missed that? How could he be so stupid?

It came as no surprise that he hadn't felt any of the dark magic that pervaded the Horcrux, he had felt none when he had held the Diary in his second year and he had only held the Diadem for a moment. He had also never held the Ring that Dumbledore had destroyed and he had only ever held the false Locket that had been left behind in that cave by the mysterious R.A.B..

Thinking of the Ring and the fake Locket, Harry also remembered, not that he had really forgotten, that Dumbledore had died at the end of his sixth year, Snape had killed him. But, if Snape had not done so, Harry had a suspicion that whatever curse had been laid upon his hand, that awful withered hand, would have claimed his life sooner of later; sooner seemed the most likely. He did not know where to find the Ring, but Dumbledore did, or would. He could not tell Dumbledore that he knew about the Horcruxes, as that would lead to questions that he could not and would rather not answer. So, how would he get the Ring?

He shook his head. That was a thought for later. Right now, he had a Horcrux within reach and he was going to waste no time in finding it and destroying it.

He turned to Luna, who was watching him with twinkling eyes, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Luna, thank you. Thank you so much!" He gave her a quick hug and dashed off, leaving the petite girl smiling contently in the center of the common room.

He flew back down the spiral staircase, becoming slightly dizzy in the process, and then began to climb up and up to the seventh floor corridor. When he reached the landing he turned and sprinted down the left-hand corridor. He skidded to a stop in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls ballet, and faced the wall opposite.

He began to pace in front of the blank space of wall, all the while thinking _I need the room where everything is hidden_. He paced the expanse three times before the door materialized out of nowhere, much like the knocker on the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room.

He rushed inside, slamming the door closed behind him. He stood with his back resting against the closed door, his eyes scanning the cavernous room in which he found himself. High above there were windows circling the entire room casting the sun's light down into the room from all angles. Between the windows were unlit torches, which he assumed would light themselves when the sun's light faded to a certain point. There were also several simple iron chandeliers hanging above the room that were likewise unlit at the moment. Dust particles floated and hung aimlessly in the air, only visible in the beams of light that lanced down from the windows, drifting like snow on a windless day.

Looking out at the room, it was just as he remembered it being the last time he had been there. Towering piles of discarded and forgotten objects stacked upon each other until they resembled jagged spires and crooked monoliths reaching toward the heavens. They stood there like a crumbling city built of mismatched bricks, some taller than others, some so close together that they had become one at some point over the years, while others came up only to his knees, but he suspected that many years later they too would rise high above his head. Everyone had things to hide, and they would find their way here eventually. It seem inevitable.

He set out into the veritable forest, in which he was looking for what was the equivalent of a single branch amongst thousands upon thousands. If he had thought that it would be easy to find his way back to where he had left the potions book, the Diadem acting as a marking, he was wrong.

A lot had happened since he had last been in this room, and his memory of the path he had taken when hiding the potion book after using the _Sectumsempra_ curse on Draco Malfoy last year, or sixth year (he had to stop thinking of it as 'last year' now that he was back at the end of his fourth year), was not all too clear in hindsight.

He wandered through the towering stacks, his eyes roving back and forth, side-to-side, up and down in search of the chipped, horrid bust that he had placed the Diadem atop.

He rounded a corner and found himself standing in front of a large, dark box-like object. He scowled, knowing exactly what it was. The Vanishing Cabinet. The very same one that Draco had used to let a group of Death Eaters into the castle to kill Dumbledore. His hands closed into fists at the memory and his teeth ground together as his jaw clenched. His fingers itched to draw his wand and blast the wretched thing into a million pieces, and he found his right hand inching toward pocket inside his robe where he kept his wand. His fingers brushed the polished wood and he closed them around it, pulling it from its resting place to be held at his side. His eyes never left the Cabinet. He raised his wand and aimed it at the center of the door of the Cabinet, the words of the strongest blasting charm he knew on his lips. But, before he could complete the incantation, a thought occurred to him. If he destroyed the Vanishing Cabinet Draco would simply find another way to get the Death Eaters into the school. He had no idea how he would do it, but Harry was certain that it would happen either way. As the Overseer had said, certain moments in time were fixed, and Dumbledore's death was one of those moments. He lowered his wand and turned his face away from the Vanishing Cabinet. He returned his wand to it's pocket.

He walked to the left of the broken transportation device and continued on without a backward glance, remembering that the hiding spot of his potions book was not too far from the were the Cabinet was.

It only took him a few more minutes to find the small cupboard that he had stuffed the potion book into. Its surface was marred, blistered, and he remembered thinking that it looked like it had been splashed with acid or something. Curious, he opened the cupboard door and peered inside. Like last time, there was a cage holding a long-dead, five-legged creature, or at least the skeleton of it. He wrinkled his nose at it and closed the door again.

He turned and there it was.

The bust was sitting atop a crate, just like last time, however, this time the Diadem was not on it, as he had not yet moved it there to mark the spot as he had in his sixth year. But, he knew that it could not be too far from there as he had merely grabbed it without thinking last time.

He glanced around the immediate area and saw the dusty old wig he had also placed on the bust, and beside that was the tiara.

He walked over to it and lifted it carefully from the pile of junk. Looking at it, there was nothing overly remarkable about it. It appeared to be nothing more than an old, faded and tarnished circlet. He wiped away the layer of dust that had gathered on its surface, and as he did this, he felt his finger brush over an engraving along the side of the circlet's band. He frowned and turned it over, peering curiously down at it. 'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure', it read. It was the same as the plaque on the base of the statue back in the Ravenclaw common room. Well, that sealed it. This _was_ Ravenclaw's lost Diadem. A piece of Hogwarts' History. It had been sitting here gathering dust for who knows how long, forgotten and left to waste away. It was a pity that he had to destroy it.

That thought brought him to a problem that he had yet to consider. How was he going to destroy the Horcrux? How was he going to destroy the others when he found them?

With a sigh, he stuffed the Diadem away in his robe and began to retrace his steps back to the door through which he had entered.

He closed the door behind him and it slowly faded away, leaving a blank expanse of stone wall in front of him. Satisfied, Harry started back down the corridor and down the right-hand corridor to the Portrait of the Fat Lady, which acted as the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. He gave the password and stepped through the portrait hole.

**XXXX To Be Continued...**

**Well, there you go, another chapter down. Let me know what you think in the reviews. Be polite, nobody likes bullies or trolls. After I posted the last chapter, I had a bit of a run in with a troll who was too much of a sniveling coward to even bother signing in so that I could give a response to their near-incomprehensible insults. First off, anyone who wants to insult my writing better at least use proper English, not those ignorant abbreviations that seem to be all kids use these days. If you can't even spell out a full four-letter word, you don't deserve to even be allowed near a keyboard. Now, I deleted the reviews, simply because I didn't want any new readers or potential readers to see them and get put off the story before even giving it a chance, but also because they were inconsiderate to the situation myself and my family are were in at the time. That is something that I will not tolerate. **

**Stay in school kids. **

**As always, if you have any questions feel free to send me a private message, or simply ask in a review and I'll do my best to get back to you with an answer.**

**Now, farewell, until next time. Part two, coming soon.**

**- Atrocity.**


	7. A Poisoned Crown

**HAPPY THANKSGIVING!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**A/N: Hello again, to all my friends. Welcome, welcome, welcome, to the next chapter of Metempsychosis! Before we begin, I want to say thank you to all who read and reviewed the previous chapter. Thank you.**

**Now, ****as previously mentioned at the beginning of the chapter before this one,**** this is the second half of what was previously one big chapter, but for reason****s**** that are of a primarily personal reason – mostly because I felt like it and partly because I felt it best – I decided to sp****l****it them apart. So, here it is. ****Now, as the Doctor would have ****once**** said:****Allons-y!**

**METEMPSYCHOSIS**

**by**

**I Am Atrocity**

**Chapter VII: The Lost Diadem: A Poisoned Crown**

**'You take life, give nothing back. You need to return what you've stolen. You need life, to multiply. Devour all that surrounds you. Heavy weighs the crown! Low hangs the head that wears it! Destroyer, of all that's good. We don't need a death that surrounds you. The bolt strikes, to infect. We know your intentions are impure. Heavy weighs the crown! Low hangs the head that wears it! Sickness can't kill this love, always alive in my heart!'**

**- The Ruiner, by Mastodon.**

At first, he didn't notice anyone else in the room with him and he walked over to his favorite chair in front of the fire and sank down into it with a huff. He stared into the fire, watching the tongues of flame dance to and fro, licking continuously at the thick logs of wood stacked within the fireplace, which seemed to never run low. He suspected that the Hogwarts House Elves were responsible. Absently, his hand reached inside his robe and touched the Diadem. What was he going to do with it? He couldn't keep it, of that he was certain. He had seen what extended contact with the Diary had done to Ginny, and he was positive that if he held onto this Horcrux for too long it would have a similar effect on him.

He was so lost in thought that he did not notice when the curly-haired, chocolate-eyed witch sitting on the couch nearby, and she had been sitting there a while, cleared her throat in an attempt to gain his attention. When he showed no signs of having heard her, she cleared her throat again, a bit louder this time. When this too failed, she slowly closed the heavy book in her hands and stood. She walked over to stand beside his chair, and dropped the heavy tome down onto the small table positioned next to the chair with a great, thunderous thud.

Harry jumped, startled, and turned his head to look first at the book, and then, noticing the body of someone standing behind where the book had landed, up into Hermione's frowning face. She stood there, looking down at him, arms crossed over her bust, one foot tapping and a disapproving frown on her pretty face.

Harry swallowed guiltily as he realized who it was standing in front of him. Of course she would be upset. He had told her that he was going to be in the common room, which he had not been. This wouldn't have been so much of a problem had he not almost been killed a couple of nights ago and had a Death Eater not been discovered to have been hiding within the staff ranks all year. She didn't openly say it, nor did she really show it, but she was worried and on edge. He could see it in her eyes, or in the way she would glance in his direction when she thought that he couldn't see it. This was were his guilt came into play. It had not been his intention to cause her any worry or stress, but then, he hadn't planned to go to Ravenclaw Tower or the Room of Hidden Things when he had told her that he was going to the common room. It just sort of happened.

They sat there for a long moment. Well, _Harry_ sat there, Hermione stood, towering over him, the firelight casting a warm, alluring glow upon her that did not suit the stony look she was giving him.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, to apologize, but he could not find his voice. "Er..." Hermione raised a brow at his failed attempt to utter a single word, but said nothing, waiting for him to find his voice. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Sorry, Hermione."

Hermione's expression did not change. "What for?" she asked.

"Er...Well, I kind of said that I was going to come back here, and I...didn't." Harry flinched at how pathetic that sounded.

Hermione remained silent.

Harry looked up at her face and continued. "I'm sorry that I made you worry."

For a moment, Hermione said nothing, then her posture and expression relaxed and she sighed. She sat down on the arm of the chair. "It's alright," she said.

Harry frowned. He didn't see how she could think so. He knew that it was not right to cause someone unnecessary worry, and that was what he had done. But, he couldn't tell her where he had been, at least not all of it. Not yet.

Hermione was not done speaking. "It's just that with what happened during the Third Task, and what Dumbledore said about that Death Eater, I...I got worried when I didn't find you here. I left only a few minutes after you did, and when you weren't here, my mind jumped to all sorts of conclusions, none of them good. I had to talk myself out of going back out to look for you. So, I decided to wait." She reached out and ran her fingers over the cover of her book, which Harry noticed was her old copy of Hogwarts: A History.

Harry didn't know what to say, so he settled with simply saying, "Sorry," again.

Hermione smiled softly and patted his hand, which rested on the arm of the chest next to her thigh. "It's alright," she said again. "I guess I shouldn't have gotten angry. I was just worried."

Harry nodded and squeezed the hand that had patted his, though when he had started to hold it, he did not know. "I know."

Hermione looked down at their entwined hands for a moment, a thoughtful look on her face, chewing her bottom lip. Then she raised her eyes to his. "So, where were you?" she asked. Her tone wasn't demanding, simply curious.

Harry shrugged, feeling the Diadem shift as his robes moved with his shoulders. "Went for a walk. Needed the quiet, to clear my head."

Hermione nodded in understanding. A silence lingered around them. It wasn't awkward, per se, but it wasn't wholly comfortable either. Finally, Hermione broke it. "Have you finished Snape's essay? It's due Wednesday, it's already Monday."

Harry shook his head. "No. I still have about six inches of parchment to go. Leave it to Snape to be the only teacher to give us homework due just a few days before the end of term."

Hermione smirked at his griping and stood up, releasing his hand. "Alright then. Go and get your books. I'll help you finish it."

Harry stood as well and started walking toward the staircase to the boys' dorms. "Thanks. Don't want a sub-par essay, especially for Snape. Somehow, I don't think he'd accept near-death as a valid excuse for why I didn't finish my homework." Hermione laughed a bit and he gave her a crooked grin as he jogged up the stairs.

When he returned, they worked for a few hours, finishing and revising his work, Hermione adding or correcting things here and there that he had either missed or gotten completely wrong. Halfway through, Ron had returned to the common room as well. He tried for a few minutes to get Harry to skive off homework and play a game of chess with him. Harry refused. He had determined that he needed to do better in his studies and he wasn't going to go back on that so soon, or ever if possible. At some point Ron had grumbled something about him becoming too much like Hermione and wandered off to pester someone else to play chess with him.

By the time they had finished thoroughly revising Harry's essay, the common room was abuzz with life and energy. Most of the students had come back and were sitting around the room in their own little groups chatting amicably. Soon though, the room began to clear as dinner time came around and everyone made their way down to the Great Hall to eat.

Harry stayed put on the couch.

"You coming, Harry?" Hermione asked as she stood up and stretched.

Harry shook his head and began gathering up his books, stuffing them back in his rucksack. "No. I'm feeling a bit tired. I think I'll turn in for the night."

Hermione looked at him worryingly but nodded. "Alright. Good night, then."

Harry nodded and stood up too. "Good night, Hermione." With that, he trudged up the stairs to his dorm.

He closed the door behind him and crossed the room and sat down on his bed, dropping his bag on the floor by his trunk. He reached inside his robe and pulled out the Diadem. He turned it over in his hands, running his fingers over it curiously. His fingers brushed the engraving. _Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure_. Well, I could certainly use some wit right now, he thought. How was he supposed to destroy the Diadem?

He continued to fiddle with the circlet as he thought.

He peered down at the inscription again. _Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure_. He remembered Luna saying that the Diadem was supposed to have magical properties. It wasn't surprising, really. It _had_ belonged to one of the most famous witches in history, who was renowned for her wisdom and knowledge. Luna had said that it was empowered to increase or amplify the wearer's wisdom. Maybe if he put it on he could find the answer.

He was already raising it up over his head when his common sense caught up with him. Slowly he lowered the circlet back to his lap. Putting on the Diadem was probably not a good idea. Dumbledore had put on the Ring and his hand had been cursed and withered. Who knew what would happen if he put on the Diadem. Maybe it would kill him. Maybe it would possess him like the Diary had done to Ginny. Maybe it would drive him to madness. No, the risk was far too high. But, it seemed his moment of stupidity had brought his thoughts full circle. He thought about the Diary. He had destroyed it with a Basilisk fang. A fang from a Basilisk that he had killed, in that very school what would be two years prior in this timeline. And that Basilisk was presumably still where he had left it. In the Chamber of Secrets.

A smile lit upon his face.

He jumped up from his bed and opened his school trunk. He dug through it until he found his Invisibility Cloak. He lifted it out and flung it over himself, stuffing the Diadem back in his pocket once it covered him. He pulled out the Marauder's Map as well and stuffed into another pocket. He might be out after hours and it would pay to have it with him just in case. He closed the curtains on the his bed so that it would appear to the other boys that he was asleep when they returned, then set off.

He moved as quickly as he dared back down to the empty common room and out the portrait hole. It was smooth sailing all the way down to the second floor landing. The corridors were completely deserted. It was almost creepy how quiet it was. Almost reminded him of the first time he had heard the Basilisk speak as he was returning from his detention with Lockhart back in his second year. He pushed that thought from his mind and entered Myrtle's bathroom.

Looking around, he didn't see the weeping ghost anywhere, which he counted as for the best. There was no point in getting caught up in conversation with a perpetually gloomy ghost when he had a job to do.

He stalked over to the sinks and found the one with the tiny serpent carved into it without difficulty; one tends to remember these kinds of things, whether they want to or not. He focused on it and spoke, knowing without having to hear it that it would come out as a series of hissing noises rather than normal speech. "_Open_," he commanded.

With the heavy grating sound of stone scraping against stone, the sink slid away. Harry winced at the sheer volume of the sound. It echoed back in on itself, intensifying itself. He glanced back over his shoulder to reassure himself that the bathroom was well and truly empty. It would not do for someone to hear the sound of the Chamber opening and start the rumor mill circulating. As the only Parselmouth in living history, as well as the only one anywhere near Hogwarts, he had no illusions that he would not be hailed once more at the Heir of Slytherin or some other such nonsense. It would draw attention to him that he neither needed nor wanted.

The grating sound ceased and Harry turned back to find the entrance revealed. It was as he remembered, how could it not be? A tunnel that sloped ever downward into the dark, dank, flooded depths beneath the school. Before he could second guess himself, he plunged into the tunnel, feeling his stomach drop and his heart jump up into his throat as he slid down into the darkness. Absently, he noted the sound of the sink sliding back into place behind him.

He landed at the bottom with a small crash, much like the last time, and found himself once again laying in a pile of animal bones. He stood and dusted himself off, picking up his Invisibility Cloak from where it lay in the dirt after having fallen off of him during the landing. He slung it over his shoulder and looked around. Not to far away was the pile of rocks that had formed after Lockhart's attempt to _Obliviate_ Ron and himself with Ron's busted wand had backfired, causing a cave in and effectively blocking the tunnel. Last time, Harry had been luck enough to be trapped on the side of the barrier that would allow him to continue on, this time he would have to find a way to clear a path.

He could see the signs of Ron's previous attempt to clear some of the blockage away, but it was no where near enough.

Harry sighed and drew his wand. He took aim at the middle of the pile and braced himself. He hoped that this would not cause another cave in. "_Bombarda Maxima!_"

The Blasting Charm connected with a thunderous roar and there was an explosion of rock and dust. Harry raised his arm to shield his face from the debris that rained down around him. He squinted through the cloud of dust that lingered in the air, trying to see if he had succeeded or not. It took a moment but he was soon able to see the outcome of his efforts.

While it hadn't cleared the entire corridor like had hoped, it had cleared enough space for him to climb through. There was an opening between the rocks and the ceiling of the tunnel about two meters wide and a meter tall. He shrugged. It would have to do.

He crawled through the hole and eased himself down the other side of the pile.

The tunnel seemed longer than he remembered. The last time, he had hardly noticed. He had run through the cave-like corridor without taking much note of his surroundings. But this time, he was not in so much of a hurry and he realized that there was much more to this place than a simple cave. Every few meters there were stone pillars rising from the floor to connect to the ceiling. They were engraved with serpents of varying size and shape, many of which he had never seen before.

That wasn't the only thing that he had failed to see last time. In between the pillars were not plain earth. No, the walls were lined with stone slabs, and on those slabs were more carvings. These seemed to tell a story.

He paused, studying them.

The first was of four figures. He recognized Slytherin from the statue of him in the main chamber, and he recognized Ravenclaw from her statue as well. He could only guess that the other two were Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. The four founders. This must be showing when they all came together.

He moved on.

The next was of a castle, which he easily recognized as Hogwarts. The four founders were standing in front of it and a line of unfamiliar figures were entering the castle's gates. Harry assumed that this represented the building and opening of the school.

He moved to the next slab.

This one showed Slytherin standing opposite the other three founders, his hand raised and a single finger extended toward them, pointing. The other three had their arms folded and their eyes seemed disapproving. This must be the falling out from when Slytherin wanted to allow only those of pure magical blood to be taught at Hogwarts.

He walked to the next image.

This one was similar to the second, as it showed the school again. There was still a line of figures entering, but there were only three founders out front. However, unlike the second image, there was an addition of a new chamber below the castle. The Chamber of Secrets. Inside the Chamber, Slytherin stood, his arms raised at his sides in a triumphant stance. This was the building of the Chamber of Secrets.

Harry continued on to the next slab.

This one showed the same image as the last, the only difference was that there was a large egg sitting in the Chamber.

On to the next he walked.

This time the egg was a serpent and Slytherin was caressing its head with obvious affection.

The next image was of the school again, only this time Slytherin was absent from the effigy and the serpent had grown in size.

The last carving was of the Basilisk. It covered the entire wall and was carved with great and terrible detail. If he stared at it long enough, Harry was almost certain that he could see it move. He glanced at the eyes of the beast and then looked away just as quickly. They were so life-like that he feared that they could kill him just as effectively as the real thing. This was not the case, but the memories of his encounter with the Monster of the Chamber had him feeling the very same fear that he had not felt since he was a twelve-year-old boy running for his life through the twisting and winding tunnels of the Chamber.

He turned away from the carving and faced the door that separated the main hall of the Chamber from the entrance tunnel. "_Open_." he commanded again.

The locks of the door, which were in the shape of serpents, retracted and the door swung open with an eery metallic groan.

As before, the door led out onto a platform with an old slippery ladder leading down to the main floor.

The Chamber was quiet, save the steady drip, drip, drip of water dropping from the cold, wet ceiling to land in the stagnant, dark pools that flanked the center walkway and covered the lower half of Salazar Slytherin's massive statue. Carved stone serpents reared up from the depths, jaws opened and forked tongues extended, on either side of the central walkway like some strange serpentine honor guard.

Harry walked forward cautiously. He had no way of knowing if some new creature had taken up refuge here now that the Basilisk was dead and rotting. As for the beast itself, it lay where it had fallen, massive body laying half in and half out of the still waters at Salazar's chin. It's carcass was already wasting away, its skin becoming pale and flaking as it cracked and falling away in death. Its internal organs and fluids had long since dried up and been reduced to nothing. It was a gruesome sight to behold, but worse still was the horrid stench that permeated the stale air of the Chamber. It lingered, collecting into a noxious, invisible cloud of gas that slowly leaked out to the surface, though through what opening this departure occurred, he had no idea.

Harry raised his arm and pressed the sleeve of his robe against his mouth and nose, breathing through the fabric in hopes of staving off the fetid miasma. He was only partially successful. It acted as a sort of filter, lessening the stink, but little else.

The closer he got to the decomposing Basilisk corpse the more overpowering the scent became. It stung his eyes and burned his nostrils, forcing him to pause and run salty tears from his eyes as they welled up, attempting to flush out the offensive agent that had irritated his orbs. He took a breath and drew his wand, pointing it toward the corpse. "_Ventus_."

A blast of air erupted from the tip of his wand, displacing the putrid fumes. He repeated this action until he had a pocket of clear, clean air around the Basilisk. The effects wouldn't last long though, so he would have to work quickly or use another round of the jinx to clear the air again.

He pocketed his wand again and walked to the head of the Basilisk.

When he stood right next to the corpse, he could smell the rancid odor coming off of it, but it was bearable. He crouched down beside the slightly parted jaw of the great beast and studied it. Even after all these years, he still marveled at the sheer size of it. He had no idea how big Basilisks normally grew, but he was certain that this one was large even by those standards. In death, it had lost its majestic, terrible beauty. The eye sockets were sunken in and the eyeballs, or what was left of them after Fawkes pecked them out, had dried and turned to dust. The nostrils were shriveled and cracked, receding and breaking away. In some places, he could already see bits of pale white bone peeking out from under the skin and cartilage.

It was almost sad. Almost.

He reached out and wrapped his fingers around one of the larger, longer, stronger-looking fangs and pulled. It took a moment, but he soon heard a hollow crack that echoed around the Chamber as the tooth was stripped out of the desiccated gums. He looked down at the tooth in his hand and examined it. It was colored like ivory and felt as smooth as a river stone. There was a hollowed tube-like hole in the center of the tooth that ran down the length to the tip, where the venom would be dispensed during biting. There was sure to be some dried venom still encrusted in this canal. Just what he needed.

He reached inside his pocket and pulled out the Diadem, laying it down on the moist, slippery floor. He gripped the fang tight in his hand and touched the tip of it against the jewel at the center of the circlet. The crown shivered, as though it sensed that its end was near. Harry raised the fang and prepared to strike. The Diadem shivered again. Harry gazed into the jewel, intending to pierce it there, but as his arm muscles coiled in preparation, he saw something flicker within the jewel. He paused.

He blinked, not sure if his eyes where playing tricks on him or not. But when he opened his eyes again, the image was still there.

He lowered his arm, eyes still fixed on the jewel. There was a face in there. A face that he knew all too well. It was Cedric's face, and he was screaming in silent agony. Harry looked on, confused and suddenly afraid. Why was he afraid? The question that plagued him the most, though, was 'why is Cedric there?'. It didn't make sense. Cedric was dead, he had seen it with his own two eyes. A green light flashed behind his eyes as he relived the memory of Wormtail cutting Cedric down without a second thought.

He watched Cedric's fearful and pained face silently plead to him from the depths of the blue, shimmering jewel while all the while a soft, sneering voice whispered in his ear. _**You could have saved him.**_

Harry shook his head, his breath quickening. "No! No, I...I...I couldn't...I couldn't..."

_**You could have saved him.**_

__"No..."

_**You failed him. You let him die!**_

"I couldn't! I couldn't save him!"

_**LIES!**_

__"No!"

_**You let him die! You could have saved him, but you only thought about yourself!**_

"No! It wasn't like that! I didn't...I couldn't..."

By this point Harry was on all fours, tears rolling down his face in a steady stream, eyes closed against the things he saw within the gem.

_**You're pathetic. You failed him, just as you will fail them all.**_

__Harry's eyes shot open as the jewel showed several faces in quick succession. Hermione, Sirius, Dumbledore, Luna, Ron, the Twins, Remus...

_**They will all die! They will die, because you are weak.**_

__Harry shook his head. "No..."

_**You are weak, and you will lose everything.**_

"I'm not weak!"

_**Pathetic. Foolish. Failure. WEAK!**_

"I'M NOT WEAK!" Harry roared back.

_**WEAK!**_

The Basilisk fang pieced the jewel with a sound like cracking glass. Harry could hear screaming and the Diadem shook as a black blood-like substance poured out from the wound. A dark smoke lifted out of the blood and gathered in front of Harry.

Harry snarled and lifted the fang again and stabbed it down into the Diadem a second time. This time two screams were heard and he distantly realized that one of them was his own.

The Horcrux's scream reached a crescendo and then died out as the smoke faded with a final whisper echoing in Harry's ears. _**You could have saved him...**_

__Harry knelt there panting. Tears still stung his eyes and his arms felt weak. He released the fang and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling high above. His chest heaved as he took deep, gulping breaths. He had done it.

The taste of victory was sour on his lips as the weight of his own guilt settled upon his already burdened shoulders.

He fell onto his back with a sob.

**XXXX**

It had taken him several minutes to regain him composure. When he finally had his breathing under control and his tears had run dry, he had hauled himself up off the wet, dirty floor and climbed to his feet.

He had scooped up the Diadem and yanked the fang from it, then tossed the cracked and broken crown aside, where it landed in the large pool that gathered at around Slytherin's statue. It sunk down into the depths and disappeared into the darkness. Out of sight, out of mind.

He removed his glasses and used the back of his sleeve to wipe his face clean, then replaced them on his face. He looked down at the fang in his hand for a long moment, considering. With a nod, he stuffed it into his pocket as well. It would come in handy in the future, when he found the rest of the Horcruxes. So far, he considered that he was doing well. The Diary was destroyed, the Diadem was destroyed, the piece of Voldemort's soul inside Nagini had been destroyed when the snake died. That was three Horcruxes down. That left the Ring, which Dumbledore would destroy, the Cup, which he had no idea how to find, the Locket, which had been stolen by R.A.B., whoever that was. Voldemort, Dumbledore had said, put much regard in the magical power of numbers. Seven was said to be a very powerful number, and Voldemort had split his soul into seven pieces, hoping that the number would provide some extra protection to them. This was obviously not the case. The final piece was Voldemort himself. So, three more to go, and he was free to off the bastard.

With that happy thought in mind, he trudged wearily back down the length of the Chamber, back through the cave-tunnel with the wall-carvings, back through the crawlspace he had created in the caved-in section of the tunnel and back to the downward-sloping chute.

He gazed up at it in consideration. How was he supposed to get back up there? He hadn't thought about that when he had made his descent. Now he was faced with a bit of a conundrum. He sifted through his options. He could try and summon his broom, but there was no guarantee that that would work at all. He could try climbing it. He attempted this, but after about two meters he found himself sliding back down and gave up on that.

He stepped back, his eyes narrowed in thought.

Slytherin would have created a way for himself to exit from the Chamber, of that he was sure. On top of that, most stories about him portrayed him as arrogant and proud, so it would be a way that was simple, yet beyond others' abilities. And what talent did Slytherin have that almost no other wizard in the world had? Parseltongue. Slytherin was famous for his ability to speak to snake and serpents, so Harry felt it was safe to assume that the way out would involve some Parseltongue, just like the way in did.

Harry concentrated. He had no idea what words to use, but he would keep trying until something happened. "_Exit_." Nothing happened. "Hmm..._Stairs_." Nothing happened. "_Elevator?_" he tried, experimentally. Still nothing, not that he had expected that one to work.

He tried to picture what Slytherin would have done, but gave up. How did one think like a wizard who had been dead for near a thousand years?

He mentally retraced his steps, from when he entered through the bathroom to the Basilisk skeleton and back to where he was now. Twice he had used the phrase '_Open_' to get through the passageways. First had been at the top of the chute he was currently standing at the base of, and the other was when he had come to the door that led to the ladder that let him down into the main Chamber.

That was when it hit him, not literally of course. The ladder. There were no stairs in this place that he could see, though he suspected that there may have been more to the Chamber had it not been flooded with water, but he had seen a ladder. Maybe that was it. Stairs would have been too easy, but a ladder, that would provide a bit more of a challenge to anyone trying to get in.

He focused once more. "_Ladder_."

At first, nothing happened and he thought that he had failed yet again, but then there was a grating sound, much like when the sink shifted away from the entrance. He looked up and could see the stone of the chute shifting. Out of the wall itself a metal ladder, just like the one back in the Chamber, protruded forth. When the grating sound subsided, he stepped over and took hold of a rung that sat at eye-level. It was cold and smooth. Tentatively he placed his foot on the first rung and lifted his other so that all of his weight rested on the metal bar. It held solid. He breathed a sigh of relief.

He made the climb rather quickly, and hissed for the entryway to open, then clambered out. He hissed for the entrance to close, then pulled out his Invisibility Cloak, covering himself with it just in time as Moaning Myrtle came floating out of one of the cubicles, looking around curiously. "Hello?" she asked the seemingly empty room. "Who's there?" Harry stayed quiet, holding his breath. It wasn't that he didn't like Myrtle, they got on well enough, it was that he didn't want anyone knowing that he had been down to the Chamber. "I know you're there. I heard you." Harry stayed silent. Finally, Myrtle seemed to give up, her shoulders drooping even more than usual. She turned and started drifting back to her cubicle, all the while mumbling to herself about no one wanting to visit miserable old moping, Moaning Myrtle.

Harry felt kind of bad for her, but it couldn't be helped. He quietly tiptoed his way to the door and slipped out.

He pulled the Marauder's Map out of his pocket and opened it up. He pulled out his wand and gave it a small wave, "_Lumos_." The tip of the wand lit up with a ball of white light. He then tapped the map with the wand, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." The map of Hogwarts appeared on the parchment, spreading out like an inky web from the spot where his wand had touched.

Using the map, he traversed the distance from the second floor up to the seventh floor with little difficulty; he only had to dodge Filch once, and avoid Peeves twice.

He ducked his head out from under the Cloak only long enough to wake the Portrait of the Fat Lady and give the password before rushing inside.

Once the Portrait had swung closed behind him, he pulled the cloak off and raised his wand, "_Nox_." The like died away, though it left an impression in Harry's vision that slowly faded away. He then tapped the map again. "Mischief managed." The map faded until it was nothing more than a blank piece of parchment.

Harry let out a sigh of relief and walked over to the chair by the fireplace, sinking down into it. He sat with his eyes closed for a moment, then his peaceful moment was broken by a soft exhalation of breath. His eyes flew open and he turned toward the couch, from where he was certain the sound had come.

He was taken aback by what he saw there.

Hermione was laying stretched across the couch, a large tome laying open on her chest, slowly rising and falling with the steady rhythm of her breathing. Her face, usually wearing a focused or thoughtful expression was now relaxed and peaceful, as though all of her worries had deserted her. Harry found himself smiling at the sight.

It was so like Hermione, to fall asleep studying, or even just reading for that matter. He expected that it helped her relax, and in turn helped her sleep. Harry had never seen her look so at ease, she was usually so busy or focused on some problem; it was pleasing to see.

Harry became aware that he was staring and suddenly felt like a voyeur, so he turned his eyes away, shifting uncomfortably. After a moment, he looked back to see her shift inward and shiver slightly. Even with the warmth of the fire, it was common for one to get chilled when sleeping. Harry stood and stepped over to where she was laying. He gently pried the book from her hands and set it aside, then he removed his own robe and draped it over her like a blanket. Unconsciously, she latched onto the new source of warmth and snuggled herself into it. Harry felt his lips quirk up at the sight. If Hermione could see herself now, she would be mortified.

Harry stood there for a moment longer, then turned away. He picked up his Cloak and Map and headed toward the staircase to the boys' dorms. He paused on the first step and gazed back to the couch. "Pleasant dreams, Hermione."

He climbed the rest of the steps and entered his dormitory. He quickly stashed the Cloak and Map away in his trunk, then climbed into this four-poster bed. He drew the covers up to his chin and lay on his side, eyes closed. Before he even had a chance to realize that he was dosing off, he was asleep.

**XXXX**

**AN: Another chapter down. What did you think? Let me know in the reviews, but remember to be polite. **

**Until next time.**

**-Atrocity.**


End file.
